


one hundred beats per minute

by MooksMookin, spacegirlkj



Series: a song to them, a story to you [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Idols, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, get ready for a lot of what i hope is humour and probably some angst too, hell yeah the worlds best fictional jpop band is back, semi public shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-12-30 21:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12117639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooksMookin/pseuds/MooksMookin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: In a world of starlight and music, Hinata couldn't be more at home.Or, a story of paparazzi and albums and photoshoots, and how four idols and a model manage to make love work.(On hold)





	1. cut to the feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! kj here, your writer and coauthor of this au!!! im here to say thank you again for all of your support through this hiatus. this shouldve gotten out sooner but i was swallowed by the void and mooks had a fandom limbo and writing in general took a back burner for the summer. ON TOP OF THAT, im in three different zines, but here we are!! back again with a lot references and rarepairs and general good relationship stuff. theres so much we have planned and i know im very excited to share this with you! say goodbye to a consistent updating scheduele or however you spell it, though, because school is a thing and physics homework demands more time than you think it would.
> 
> chapter titles this time around will be ###iconic pop songs!!! this one is by carely rae jepsen. the title, not the fic.
> 
> as always, beta'd by my lovely coauthor mooksmookin!!
> 
> —
> 
> HEY UP ITS YA MOOK i dont have much to say since kj covered most of it but lemme tell ya i am SO thankful for all the wonderful feedback we've gotten and for all of your guys' patience this fic couldnt be what it is without all of your support thank you all so very much.
> 
> BEFORE WE START a BIG shoutout to @paperdragonfly for [this wonderful art piece](https://paperdragonfly.tumblr.com/post/164687055527/model-hinata-inspired-by-the-fanfic-the-beat-of) inspired by our fic AND ALSO TO @the-junhao-dream for [this awesome aes post](http://mooksmookin.tumblr.com/post/164620664353/the-junhao-dream-got-inspired-by-the-fic-the) also inspired by our fic!!! it means so much to both of us that we could inspire you guys!! thank you so very very much!!!

Love is _amazing._ Hinata hasn’t been in a relationship for awhile, and has never been in a relationship with four different people at once to boot. Everything feels a little hyperreal— the kisses, the laughter, the dates that they all embark on whenever the four superstars are free. Hinata wants to wrap himself up in their voices and arms almost constantly, wants to share and trade stories and make more memories and laugh until every rib feels bruised. Hinata _adores_ every part of it, craves the ups and the downs and after a year of knowing and really loving them, he's ready for it all.

His heart still beats faster and faster whenever he sees them, and he still gets tongue tied when they smile, but he knows that it's mutual and that they love him, they love him, they love him.

Hinata smiles and grins and covers his face. He _loves_ them.

—

It’s not like Hinata is completely used to it— to walking to his boyfriends’, _multiple boyfriends,_ apartment unannounced, to being greeted with a smile from Iwaizumi or a kiss— quick or not— from Oikawa. He’s not used to thinking _I want to kiss him_ and being _able_ to without worry, nor is he over the giddiness that spurs in his stomach when Matsukawa kisses the top of his head. Little things send him over the moon now as much as ever just because they can, and just because he’s allowed to feel this way.

The boys— _his_ boys— are still busy as ever. New album, promotions, interviews, variety shows, meetings and dance practices and performances on TV. Hinata tunes in whenever he can, between shoots while he gets his hair done, texts them and hopes they aren’t working themselves to death. Today, he leaves the shoot with a wave and a smile, doesn’t stop at his place before heading over to HQ Entertainment to visit with the hopes that they’ll stop long enough to say hello. He makes a detour to pick up coffee— tea, in his case— and slips through the rotating doors of the big company building.

The interns all smile at him as he passes, and Hinata greets them in response. By now, he doesn’t bother getting a visitor’s lanyard— it took persuading and a few nervous trips up the elevator to go through with it. A good chunk of the public relations and media experts know him by name, and others simply recognize him as _the one who Oikawa never leaves alone_ or _the small ginger that always hangs out with seij-OH!_ It’s not a bad way to be known, Hinata figures.

Slipping into the elevator, Hinata checks his phone to see what floor they were on, and to give them a heads up he’s on his way up, letting the other patreons press the buttons before him. He selects his last minute, as careful as he can be in order not to knock into a lady in a pressed suit as he reaches over. Even on his best day he buzzes with anticipation and excitement at seeing his boyfriends— his stomach flutters at the phrase— even if only for a minute.

They’re in the dance studio today, bringing back good memories that make Hinata’s face flush more than he likes to admit. Fixing his hair one last time, he skips down the hall towards the familiar music, bass heavy and distorted through the walls. Sliding open the doors, he lingers towards the back, watching as Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki dance, catching their eyes in the mirror with a smile that stretches right across his face. He sets the drinks down, leaning against the wall to watch the rest of the performance.

The second the song ends, Oikawa spins around to face him. “Shou-chan!” he exclaims. Hinata doesn’t have time to react or respond before he’s practically tackled in a hug, Oikawa lifting him off the ground as his arms wrap around his waist. Hinata giggles as he’s set down, sighing as Oikawa leans down and presses a kiss to his lips.

Something Hinata has learned in the two weeks they’ve been dating: Oikawa _loves_ kissing. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t continue for another hour, instead letting Hinata break the kiss to greet him and the others with words.

“How are you all?” Hinata asks. He can focus on them better now, can see how there’s a glisten of sweat along Iwaizumi’s collarbones. “How long have you been practicing?”

Everyone turns to Hanamaki, who shrugs. “Dunno, an hour and a half? That’s just the dancing— we’ve been here since ten-thirty.” He smirks, taking a step forwards. “Shou-you, will you give me what Oikawa’s already got?”

“Stunning good looks and a work ethic?” Oikawa chides, leaning his chin atop Hinata’s head. “We break for ten minutes, then it’s back to work.”

Hinata tilts his head to look at Oikawa, spinning around to tap his nose. When he turns to face Hanamaki, he feels hands slid around his waist, and he _really_ needs to practice on not jumping when Matsukawa grabs him so casually.

“You brought coffee for us? Babe, how sweet,” he says.

“Yep!” Hinata squeaks. He can smell both the cologne and Matsukawa’s body wash at this proximity, not to mention the smell of sweat from the hours practicing. “I-it’s just on the ground over there!”

“Thank god,” Iwaizumi mumbles, bending over to grab his. Hinata is not subtle in how he stares at his backside, and knows Hanamaki is leering at him in teasing glee. Iwaizumi stands back up, smiling around the straw of his iced coffee. “Thanks, Shouyou.”

Hinata’s face flushes. “Ah, um, it’s no problem,” he stammers, looking down at the ground. Behind him, Matsukawa hums, tugging him a little closer so that Hinata’s back is flush with his chest.

A light knock at the door interrupts their meeting, drawing their attention away from the coffee and towards the studio entrance. Hinata startles enough that he slips out of Matsukawa’s tight hold as the door is opened, Kiyoko and Yachi walking in.

“Yahoo, Shimizu, Yachi!” Oikawa explains. “No need to worry, it’s only a ten minute break. Only seven more until we’re back practicing!”

He’s got that lilt to his voice, Hinata notices, the one that’d playful but somehow still shows his dedication and focus. It’s interesting, but focus is shifted elsewhere as Kiyoko nods.

“Hinata, it’s a pleasure as always. I guess it works better that you’re here also, as this matter does have to do with you,” she says.

“N-nothing bad!” Yachi cuts in, clutching onto her laptop. “But— ah, how do I say this— well—”

“Daishou and upper management have questions regarding a certain clause in your contract, and...” Kiyoko sighs. “That’s our job. We can go to a meeting room if you’d like, or if you’re better here—”

“There’s chairs in the prop closet, if you want one,” Hanamaki tells her.

Kiyoko smiles, shaking her head. “Yachi and I are fine sitting on the ground. You may want to sit also— it’ll take awhile to go through this.”

Hinata stands awkwardly in place as the exchange happens, unsure of whether or not he was intruding or was supposed to be here. A lingering fear crept up the back of his neck, that this had _something_ to do with them being together, that HQ was going to yell at them about scandals—

From beside him, Iwaizumi grabs his hand, softly tugging him down to sit in the circle with the rest of them, handing him his drink with a sympathetic smile. Hinata’s stomach still churns, but the calming aura that seemed to radiate from Iwaizumi made staying still a little easier.

“I won’t cut corners— it’s stated in the public relations and media portion of your contract that you’re obligated to state any relationships you partake in, to make Yachi’s life easier and so that upper management can keep the company's records clean of scandals,” Kiyoko tells them. Hinata’s heart instantly sinks to his stomach because _oh god_ there is no way Kiyoko wouldn’t know by now. Beside her, Yachi seems in almost the same stressed predicament as him, drumming her fingers on her pencil skirt as Kiyoko continues.

“Hanamaki, Matsukawa, you understand what the process is like and why it’s necessary. In this case… well, I won’t lie, none of you here are very subtle,” Kiyoko tells them. Matsukawa smirks, elbowing Hanamaki’s side. Hinata looks up to Iwaizumi, who’s blush can only be recognized by the tips of his ears, and to Oikawa, who takes the conversation more seriously than Hinata would expect. “So, for the sheer sake of formalities, you’ll need to explain what's happening.”

“That’s simple,” Oikawa says. “I’m dating Hinata, Iwa-chan is dating Hinata, and Mattsun, Makki, and Hinata are all dating each other.” He says it succinctly, casually, like one would comment on the state of the weather.

Hinata is sure he’s never been redder in his life. As he stares down at his shoes, he’s reminded that being the centre of attention, despite his career choice and everything leading up to it, is a little more overwhelming than he’d expect.

There’s two beats of silence before anyone speaks. “Okay, same rules apply no matter the situation,” Kiyoko starts. “HQ doesn’t care for the nature of relationships as long as they don’t interfere with their artists’ work and image.”

“Ah, um, Matsukawa and Hanamaki, you know the rules for public affection,” Yachi starts. “It’s simple— if there’s a chance you could be spotted and it’s… explicit, just… hold off until no one else is around. If you want to bend the rules just… give me a heads up. Or if you feel inclined to do something bold. Talk is talk at this point, but it’s detrimental for your whole team if there’s a scandal or if this leaks during promotions or tour.”

“Things like the Lexus commercial for Oikawa and Hinata or the music video for _Dragon Boy_ are different. They have upper management's stamp of approval, so in that case you don’t have to worry,” Kiyoko informs them. She turns to Hinata, pushing up her glasses. “Of course, none of this can change what _you_ do, Hinata. I assume Kuroo has his own parameters and publicity rules that you should abide by.”

“Uhhh, yes?” Hinata says, hyper aware of how he hasn’t said anything to Kuroo yet. He clears his throat, shifting his legs. “Yeah, there’s— um— it’s pretty much the same. In less fancy words.”

“Good,” Kiyoko smiles. “Then we all agree not to make each other’s lives harder?”

There’s a chorus of _yes ma’am,_ and Hinata comes to terms with the fact that _everyone_ holds Kiyoko with high regard and respect as she stands up, lending Yachi a hand before wishing them well and slipping out of the door.

It’s dead silent until Hinata sighs, leaning back to flop down against the floor. At the last moment, Iwaizumi catches his head, sitting him back up before turning to look at him.

“Hey, it’s not anything major or horrendous or... restricting,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You aren’t upset, are you?”

“No, no!” Hinata exclaims, straightening his back. “I just wasn’t expecting, y’know, to have this big conversation when I came in. I thought we’d just have coffee and I’d get to watch you practice and… be with you for a bit.”

Oikawa smiles from across the circle. “That’s sweet, I’m sorry the break had to be cut short. Do you want a kiss to make up for it?”

Hinata’s eyes widen as he stares at Oikawa, already mumbling in surprise and embarrassment as Oikawa scoots over and plants another kiss to his lips, humming softly before pulling apart.

“Now, back to practice, yeah?” he chimes with a smile.

Hinata, dazed and warm, nods on cue, lifting his drink up to his lips to take a sip as Iwaizumis leans over to kiss his cheek before standing. Of _course_ Hinata’s kissed him before, but it still makes him bubble with joy and somewhat distracts him from Matsukawa’s hand that ruffles his hair as he passes or the hand Hanamaki extends to help him stand up. Hinata pops up to a stand, not expecting Hanamaki to swoop down and kiss him, tongue and all. With a strangled noise, Hinata shuts his eyes, thinks _this can’t be good on my heart,_ and kisses back until Hanamaki pulls away to get back to what he does best.

As Hinata watches them dance, practice staging, criticizing each other or simply stopping to sing through lines, he thinks about Kiyoko and Yachi’s words, about the clause and the fact of the matter that their relationship is going to be a little bit of a secret. He thinks about Matsukawa and Hanamaki whispering into his ears in the middle of a café, thinks about Oikawa touching him at any given moment if he can. The only one who seems able to restrain from PDA is Iwaizumi, and with those odds, Hinata can’t help but pity the amount of work Yachi must have on her hands.

But he smiles, because he couldn’t care right now. He’s happy to have the ones he loves in arms reach. They’re so close, close enough to touch or to kiss or to talk to, no longer something unattainable or unimaginable or unthinkable or—

Hinata’s thoughts fizzle out as Oikawa winks at him through the mirror. His heart stops, and he swoons.

—

Some days, Hinata spends his days off in his boyfriends’ apartment, checking emails and reading books and trying to catch up on sleep. With promotions being at their height, schedules are often jumbled— they’re broken up into pairs or on their own to do radio shows or for interviews or, in Oikawa’s case, to consult with management. Despite it keeping them apart, it means that someone _always_ comes home first.

Today that someone is Hanamaki, who drops his dance bag in the foyer and kicks it into the corner, and lights up at the sight of Hinata perched on the couch. He’s got to stretch out his muscles before he does anything, but it doesn’t stop Hinata from watching as he sits down on the living room floor and bends himself in half with a wince, pressing his face into his knees and groaning.

“Long day?” Hinata asks. He definitely does _not_ stare at the strip of skin showing on the small of his back.

Hanamaki hums. “I did some ballet in my free time— fucking form is so tiring to maintain. I just wanna be jello right now.”

Hinata giggles at Hanamaki’s hyperbole as Hanamaki shift his legs wide open in centre split, and _oops, yeah,_ Hinata is staring at how easy it is for him to move his body like that. As easy as it seems, it still makes Hanamaki sigh as he stretches out, body in need of a much needed rest.

“T-that looks painful,” Hinata comments as Hanamaki leans the front half of his body over the floor, trying to hide how his voice wavers

Hanamaki shrugs the best he can in his current position. “Only after an entire day of doing it,” he answers. “If I don’t stretch I’ll _really_ pay tomorrow. If only it were as easy for my back.” As if to prove his point, he rolls his shoulders, no tension nor a satisfying crack being released.

It’s as Hanamaki continues with his stretches that the idea blossoms inside of Hinata’s head. It’s a good one, all things considered, and he has no reason to be shy about it _now,_ not when he and Hanamaki are dating and there are no qualms between them about innuendos, lewd jokes, and intimacy alike.

So Hinata clears his throat after a few moments, earning him Hanamaki’s gaze as he looks up from his place on the floor. Hinata averts his gaze to the ground, sure that he’s instantly started sweating.

“I— uh— I can give you a massage? If you want, I mean. For your back,” he says, stumbling over his words.

Hanamaki immediately perks up, swinging out of his stretching position. “Oh shit, babe, thank you— this is gonna be so good—”

Hinata blushes harder.

“— Oh my god, am I in heaven? I’m blessed either way,” Hanamaki finishes, climbing onto the couch and turning around. “The biggest knots are between my shoulders, by the way.”

Hinata is really, truly, honestly, so very gay. He lets his hands hover over Hanamaki’s back, aware of the muscle that lies underneath the blue of his soft shirt. Slowly, carefully, he places his hands at the top of Hanamaki’s shoulders, beginning to work the muscle there only for Hanamaki to jolt.

“Oh right,” he says out of nowhere. “Probably should strip off my shirt.”

Hinata’s mind goes back to ones, zeros, and error codes as Hanamaki reaches back and pulls that blue fabric off of his body, tossing it on the floor. He looks over his shoulder for half a second to smirk before letting his head hang back forwards, giving Hinata a near heart attack and a clear go ahead to begin.

The good thing about massaging Hanamaki’s back is that he gets to look at it, touch it, feel Hanamaki very slowly turn to putty— or to steal his words, jello— in his hands. He kneads the heel of his hand into the spot between Hanamaki’s shoulder blades, works out the knots that keep his body tight all the while admiring the faint freckles, barely noticeable, flecked across his back. Hanamaki hums lightly, sighs becoming much more relieved and much less strained as Hinata moves towards his lower back, fingers moving in soothing circles to alleviate the tension.

“Mmm,” Hanamaki hums, luling his head as Hinata explores and discovers, maps out and charts Hanamaki’s reactions to each of his movements. “How’re you so good at this?”

Hinata laughs at his content. “I’ve had practice with this before. My mom had late nights and had a whole truckload of jobs throughout the week. When she got home she’d be stressed and dead on her feet, so a good back rub was all I could really offer to help out. It’s been a while, so I might be rusty.”

“Oh, honey,” Hanamaki coos, stretching out his arms and turning around with a grin and half lidded eyes, throwing one arm around Hinata’s shoulders and dragging him down. “You’re _far_ from it.”

And then he’s kissing him, flipping them over so that he hovers above Hinata. Hinata gives in to the inevitable, enjoying it every second as it progresses. Hanamaki kisses wet, kisses slow, kisses with intent and tongue from the very beginning. There’s a perpetual smile stuck to their lips as they kiss, as if neither one of them can truly believe this is really happening. Hinata’s hand trails up and down his back, ghosting over the muscles he just massaged, living for the way Hanamaki drags his tongue across his teeth before pulling back to brush his hair from his face. It steals the breath from his lungs, knots his stomach, leaves him keening and pressing more and more into Hanamaki, so happy they can finally do this.

Hanamaki isn't one to waste time, but he is one to tease. He sits up and breaks the kiss, watching as Hinata pants, catching his breath. It's entrancing, the way everything pulls together as Hinata stares up at him. Golden sunlight flows in from the windows— midsummer days bright, hot, and long. It catches in the glow on Hanamaki’s cheeks, shows the sheen in his hair, makes him look like the angel he could hardly ever be. Hanamaki flicks his eyes over his face— over flushed cheeks and rumpled clothes and probably plump lips. He has no shame in watching Hinata, in running a hand up and down his side. Hinata can only control his breathing and try not to die as he does the same, looking over the body he can now touch, noticing the faded brown marks at the edge of Hanamaki’s collarbone.

Carefully, as if in a daze, Hinata brushes his fingertips over one of the bruises, noting Hanamaki’s reaction and the sigh it pulls from him.

“Mm, I bruise easy,” Hanamaki murmurs, eyes gleaming with a tinge of mischievousness as he stares down at Hinata. “Issei says you do too.”

Hinata barely has time to stutter out _I guess_ before Hanamaki is leaning back down, mouth already moving down his neck. Hinata's eyes open wide, mouth falling into an _oh._ Hanamaki isn't as relentless with his mouth as Matsukawa, but Hinata can't deny the hitch in his breath as Hanamaki lazily grazes his teeth over his neck. Shivers run down his spine, and despite it all, heat begins to radiate from his chest, warm and heavy like the pressure on his neck. As Hanamaki continues sucking on his neck, Hinata finally begins to close his eyes, body going slack, arms slung precariously overtop of Hanamaki’s shoulders.

Eventually, the warmth of lips against his pulse leaves, snapping Hinata's eyes back open as he wrinkles his nose with a whine of protest. His vision focuses, and Hanamaki can be seen as clear as day, eyes lidded and tongue running over his bottom lip. It makes Hinata's heart stop for a moment, makes him feel like more than just a person.

“Well, it looks like he was right,” Hanamaki tells him, admiring his handy work. “This is a refreshing change. Issei must have skin made of steel or something, he never bruises.”

Hinata giggles lightly, still reeling when he hears the tell tale sounds of the front door opening, closing, and footsteps approaching.

“You called?” Matsukawa hums, dropping his bag on the ground. Hinata and Hanamaki turn to watch him, Hanamaki still perched on top of Hinata, completely shirtless and entirely unfazed. Hinata looks up, brightening at the sight of Matsukawa, chest squeezing fondly as he comes over towards them.

“Welcome home!” Hinata chimes.

“Hey babe, wanna see what I did?” he says with a smug grin, motioning with his head to come closer.

Hinata blushes, still taken aback by the casualty of Hanamaki’s voice. Despite it, fondness oozes from his smile, eyes flickering soft as Matsukawa plops down on the arm of the couch, blinking as he stares at the light hickey on Hinata's neck.

“H-how was your day?” Hinata asks, trying to take the attention off himself.

Matsukawa hums, placing a hand in Hinata’s hair and brushing through it. “Well, y’know. Busy,” he muses, too distracted by the forming bruise on Hinata’s neck to give a proper answer. His hand runs down his cheek, down to the mark, swiping his thumb over it reverently. “You’re beautiful. You both look great— but Hiro, scooch over.”

“Eh?” Hanamaki says, raising a brow.

“Shou, will you let me have a go and show our boyfriend how it's done?”

 _God please,_ Hinata thinks, nodding in what he hopes is not a too eager way as Hanamaki lifts off of him, leaving a kiss on his forehead before swapping out with Matsukawa, who all but smirks before diving down.

It’s like comparing a rainstorm to a hurricane in terms of intensity. Hanamaki was nice, of course, but Matsukawa is _merciless_ and skilled, uses enough force for Hinata to feel good without pain, teases with his tongue and his teeth _constantly_ as if to taunt him or remind him that he’s there. Hinata couldn’t forget, not when he's frantically searching for a grip in Matsukawa’s curls, back arching up and pressing their chests flush together, any sense of embarrassment leaving his preoccupied mind and leaving nothing but Matsukawa.

Hands softly comb through his hair, and distantly, Hinata can recognize them as Hanamaki’s. It’s soothing, juxtaposes the pressure on his jaw as he writhes slightly, Matsukawa not letting up as he trails his lips higher up towards his right ear. What catches him off guard, though, is when Hanamaki starts speaking.

“It looks like he was right,” Hanamaki murmurs, crouching so that his lips are next to Hinata’s head, next to his left ear. “Issei is making this good, isn’t he? Just for you, too.”

Hinata keens softly, a noise slipping from his lips that no one quite expected. Despite his eyes being closed shut, he can sense the grin on Hanamaki’s lips, Matsukawa’s response given in a nip at his jawline as he works back down his neck before slowly moving away.

“And that,” he murmurs, still not sitting up fully as he wipes his mouth with his hand. “Is how you leave a hickey.”

Hinata huffs, still reeling after everything that had happened. He wriggles to sit up properly, still flushed as he leans forward to leave a comically chaste kiss to Matsukawa’s neck as Hanamaki snorts.

“ _A_ hickey? I see three, not counting mine,” he chides, scooching his way onto the couch next to Matsukawa. “Good work, you hoover-vac.”

“Aw, babe, you love it too,” Matsukawa grins, throwing an arm around both him and Hinata. “So, Shou, was it to your expectations?”

Hinata blushes deeper, pushing his face into Matsukawa’s shoulder. “You’re too much— I— it was great,” he croaks, regaining a few shreds of his composure. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, baby,” Matsukawa hums, kissing the top of his head before pulling him in a little tighter.

“Shouyou,” Hanamaki sings. “That is not an empty offer.” He winks, and Hinata laughs airily.

“I— I know,” he says. “Now, are you gonna tell me about your day or what?”

Matsukawa shrugs. “I don’t know, will you kiss me after?”

“Deal.”

“Hey, will you kiss _me_ after?” Hanamaki teases Matsukawa, lightheartedly nudging him. “Give me some lovin’, tall, dark, and handsome.”

“I could kiss you _now,”_ Matsukawa offers. “But that may compromise my plans.” He looks over at Hinata, corners of his mouth quirked.

Hanamaki chuckles. “I’m just fucking with you— kiss me once you tell us what you did since I left, _then_ we can resume.”

Hinata smiles, resting his head on Matsukawa’s shoulder. Warmth bubbles through him like tea on a cold day, makes him sigh with content as he listens to Matsukawa talk, feels the hum of his voice through his chest. _This is perfect,_  Hinata thinks. _This is was I could only hope for._ Hanamaki snorts, and it’s so ungraceful it hurts, and yeah, he decides, this, Oikawa, and Iwaizumi, is all he needs.

—

Hinata loves his job, really and truly. It's also to be said that he care for his coworkers, who have very easily become his friends in some cases. Sugawara and Alisa, though, happen to be the devil's own hellsents when it comes to satisfying their curiosity.

After a rather long, strenuous shoot, Hinata is not suspicious when Sugawara and Alisa shepard him to a chic lunch restaurant, the offer of a free meal enticing and kind enough that he has no reason to be. So they, hair and makeup a little avant garde and a little extravagant for daily use, waltz into the restaurant, Hinata completely ignorant to their plan.

“So, Hinata,” Sugawara says from behind their menu, nails tapping on the cover. “How are things concerning you and, ah, your boys?”

Hinata blushes, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Um, good!” he says, unsure whether or not he should tell them the full extent of how good it is. Technically, he reasons, it _is_ his call. Despite that knowledge, Hinata awkwardly trails off, aware of Alisa’s smile growing from across the table.

“Oh, I bet it's going _wonderfully,”_ she grins. “Don't rub your neck too hard— the coverup is starting to come off.”

Hinata squeaks, face boiling as a hand slaps up to cover his neck where, earlier, he had concealed the purple hickies. “Is it bad?” he asks, voice hushed.

“Mm, only if you're looking for them,” Sugawara chimes. They set their menu down quirking a brow. “Sooooooooo… who left them?”

“More importantly, are ny’all together?” Alisa buts in.

Hinata lets out an _eep,_ looking down at the table. It's a very nice rosewood table with lots of knots, and provides ample distraction as he fumbles over his words.

“Well, um— it's kind of a funny story,” Hinata laughs. “We got together at the, the uh, _Commes de garçons_ runway—”

“I _knew_ it!”

Hinata blushes harder. “But! We're all together, yeah. It's on the down low? Not super public, you know, but...” Hinata takes a deep breath, looking up with a smile. “It's so, so nice.”

Sugawara smirks. “Oh, I bet. Mind telling any the other details? Specifically, those bruises?”

Hinata reaches for his water, taking a much needed sip. “It was Iss— Matsukawa. And Hanamaki,” he mumbles. “But thats all you get!”

“Ooo, Hinata, don't kiss and tell? That's alright, don't worry,” Alisa assures him. “But are _you_ doing well? Not too overwhelmed?”

“I’m doing really well, yeah,” Hinata tell her. He flicks his eyes back down to the tables, dragging his finger across. “We— we all are.”

Sugawara smiles. “Good. I'm glad you all worked it out,” they tell him, and despite their earlier banter, it rings genuine through his ears.

The waiter comes by with a friendly smile and slightly bemused look at their getups, takes their orders quickly and leaves them to chat. Hinata is hardly self conscious of his makeup— purple lipstick and rather angular eyeliner. At least, he has no reason to be, not when Alisa hasn’t taken her hair out of the braided maze on her head and Sugawara kept their glitter on as well.

“So, Hinata,” Sugawara starts, casually enough.

“Yeah?” Hinata asks. He spins from side to side— the stools they’ve sat on seem to rotate just enough to distract them.

“Are they any good?” Sugawara asks. Alisa punches him in the shoulder, and they hardly recoil at the contact. Hinata cocks his head, not quite understanding.

“Good at what?” he asks.

“Well,” Sugawara grins. “You know.” They wink. “In bed.”

Hinata stops spinning, nearly throwing himself out of his chair. “Ex- excu- what?” he splutters.

“Suga, he doesn’t kiss and tell!” Alisa laughs loudly.

“This isn’t kissing we’re talking about!” Sugawara exclaims in response.

Hinata covers his face, lowering it to the table. “You— I— this is— we haven’t—” he stumbles over his words, trying to conjure up a proper response.

“Okay, okay,” Sugawara chokes, still laughing. “Don’t let me be too pushy, I’m just teasing, Hinata.”

“M _hmm_ ,” Alisa hums, placing a comforting hand on Hinata’s shoulder. “Sure you were. You’re gonna kill the poor boy if you keep this up.”

Hinata can feel his soul lifting out of his body. Perhaps he’s already died of embarrassment. He wonders if they’ll call the ambulance if he doesn’t get up. Surely he’ll just be proclaimed dead on arrival and he won’t have to deal with this any longer.

“Hey, meal on me?” Sugawara offers.

Hinata looks up, and despite everything, cracks a smile, because somehow he’s still having _fun_ just being able to talk or be teased about a relationship that _exists._

“In any case, Hinata,” Alisa begins. “Have you told Kuroo yet? Does he know?”

Hinata inhales sharply, shaking his head. “N-no, I haven’t told him. Not yet. I haven’t found the time to.”

Alisa raises her brows. “I’m surprised he hasn’t found out.” She stays silent for a moment before shrugging. “He’s busy too, I’m sure you’ll find the time or he’ll put two and two together.”

Hinata remembers the meeting with Kiyoko, Yachi, and the rest of his boys. The lingering fear that laid at bay for long enough bubbles up to the surface. “I— is it okay? Like, do you think Kuroo will be upset? They’re internationally known musicians and stuff and I just—”

“Hinata,” Sugawara says softly. “Kuroo is chill about these things— he couldn’t care less whether you dated a chimpanzee or Rihanna. Take it from me— my boyfriend Daichi is like… well, he isn’t famous, but Kuroo knows and understands that that’s my own business.”

“And Saeko _is_ kind of famous in certain scenes,” Alisa piques up. “Kuroo’s reaction was basically _‘it’s your life, be smart about it.’_ The paps only use stuff that they think will tear you down, and the general public cares a lot less than you’d think.”

Hinata sighs, relaxing the tension in his shoulders. “Really?”

“One hundred percent,” Sugawara says. “Kuroo is the _least_ of your worries.”

A smile rises onto Hinata’s face, and he leans back taking a sip of his drink as the conversation stills comfortably for a moment. Alisa drums her nails on the table, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Now if we’re talking about Kuroo,” she says. “Maybe you could give us the deets on how _bad_ he’s got it for your friend Kenma there.”

Hinata snorts. “Oh man, this may take awhile.”

—

Here’s the thing about an apartment lived in by four boys with long hours and relatively no time for normal errands— it’s pretty bare in terms of necessities. Iwaizumi once revealed to Hinata that it’s easier for them all to buy their special soaps and shampoos in bulk so they don’t run out as quick, and to buy outrageous amounts of toilet paper so they have to get more sparingly. Hinata understands— they’re busy, and when they aren’t, they’d have to deal with running errands after a long day. Even to him, the task seems somewhat unappealing now that he’s nestled into Oikawa’s chest on the couch.

It takes a few moments to untangle himself from Oikawa’s limbs, his boyfriend fast asleep and practically dead to the world. Hinata’s stomach grumbles after a day of hard work and no rest, he really wants something to eat. Thinking it’d be a good idea to make some food for himself and the others to eat later, he wanders off to the kitchen, only to find _nothing_ there. Not a scrap for a mouse, not a single carton of eggs. Nothing. Zip. Nada.

Blinking as if focusing harder on the empty fridge would make food appear, Hinata sighs. He doesn’t _mind_ grocery shopping, and god knows he wouldn’t complain if it gets food into the mouths of those four hard working boyfriends of his. _God, how’d they let it get this bad?_ flashes through Hinata’s mind as he grabs a few reusable bags from the closet and pulls on his shoes. He’s about to leave a note saying why he left and that he’ll be right back when he hears a whine and shuffling from the living room. Oikawa walks into view, rubbing his eyes and fixing his neon green shirt.

“Mmm, Shou-chan, where’re you goin’?” he mumbles, grabbing his glasses from an end table.

“Groceries, because you have _none_ and you _will_ starve without them,” Hinata tells him.

Oikawa’s face lights up, breaking his groggy daze in an instant. He smiles warmly, skipping forwards to bump hips with Hinata as he reaches down for his shoes. (White. Light up soles. Hinata has to admit— they’re _kind of_ cool.)

“I’ll come with you! Gimme a sec to get my shoes on—” he says, jumping up on one leg as he jams his foot into the shoe, pulling on the heel.

Hinata stifles a laugh as Oikawa, in all his poised, six-foot-tall glory hops around like a flamingo. He straightens up with a proud look of self satisfaction, quickly grabbing Hinata’s hand before dragging him out of the apartment.

“T-Tooru!” Hinata exclaims, caught off guard and blushing.

“Oh! I need my keys!” he remembers, dragging Hinata back inside for a split second to grab the key to his car off the hook.

Hinata laughs out loud at being jolted back and forth, looking up at Oikawa as he shuts the door behind him triumphantly, keys in hand. His heart pounds against his chest, because it’s impossible for Oikawa to be gifted with a voice like a siren and looks like a god and the personality of a saint and _still_ look at him as if he were the one who hung the stars.

The drive to the grocery store doesn’t take long, Oikawa insisting on driving with one hand to keep the other entwined with Hinata’s until they pull into the parking lot of the store. Hinata takes a moment to linger, watching as the energy that Oikawa so obviously lacked during his nap rushes back to him in the form of bright smiles and adoring eyes that follow him as he climbs out of the car.

It’s late enough that the lights inside of the grocery store burn bright on their eyes, making them squint as they walk in Oikawa grabbing a cart as Hinata instinctively picks up a flyer to read what the day’s deals are. Liminal energy flows through them as they stand, the only ones in a grocery store at eight-thirty in the evening, Hinata still closer to Oikawa than necessary because he _wants_ to be.

It turns out, to no one’s surprise, Oikawa has a difficult time restraining himself from buying obscure fruits and vegetables he isn’t sure he’d even like, and that combined with Hinata’s easily distracted nature makes the shopping harder than it should be. They settle on buying only _one_ pound of chom-chom fruits, making their way through the produce aisles in a little less than fifteen minutes by some miracle.

Hinata smiles when Oikawa discreetly tries to place a box of milk bread in the cart, covering it up with a container of whey protein. Hinata shakes his head, smiling and giving his arm a squeeze before walking over to the bakery counter to grab some chocolates and cream puffs.

“Hey, Shou-chan,” Oikawa sings as he pushes the cart lazily, trailing behind Hinata who bends over to grab some eggs. “You think that this cart can make it in a straight line down the aisle without hitting the sides?”

“That’s oddly impulsive of you,” Hinata notes blankly. “But yes! You could do it, I think. But that doesn’t mean you should.”

Oikawa pouts. “I… okay.” He sighs. “But I could’ve, which is what matters,” he huffs.

Hinata giggles as Oikawa pulls the cart up next to him, heart swelling with fondness. “Mhm, of course,” he says, cheeks tinting pink as he rises onto his tiptoes to kiss Oikawa’s cheek as he sets the eggs down.

“Sh-Shou-chan!” Oikawa exclaims, hand rising to his cheek. Hinata blushes harder, matching the same red tint that begins to bloom on the apples of Oikawa’s face.

There’s a moment of mutual surprise, both staring wide eyed at each other before bursting out into laughter that echoes through the empty store, over the dull music playing on the radio. The two fall into each other’s orbits, Hinata leaning into Oikawa’s shoulder as their ribs hurt with stitches. Hinata absorbs the warmth Oikawa radiates, breathing deeply as his senses come back to him, laughter dying out in favour of a fond glance up at Oikawa as he bites his lip, looking down at Hinata with sparkles sheening in his irises.

It makes his heart squeeze. Hinata _loves_ him.

They finish grocery shopping without a hitch, stalling to make fun of cereal names and stuff bubble gum into their cart at the last possible moment. The cashier looks half asleep as they ring them up, but manages to recognize who Oikawa is just as they hand him the receipt.

“No one will believe me when I say I met you,” they say. Hinata giggles because some part of him still relates.

After a quick picture and a balancing act of carrying all of the bags between the two of them, the two manage to stuff the groceries into the backseat of Oikawa’s sleek, leather seated Tesla. They clamour into the front seats and shut the doors, turning to each other with smiles softened by the dwindling daylight and the creep of night sky that begins to paint the sky black. Instinctively, they join hands, as if they’ve been dating for longer than a month. Somehow, it feels like that.

The radio hums, an announcers recorded voice lamenting about news and weather before launching into the next song— something familiar enough that both Hinata and Oikawa’s eyes light up, Hinata’s hand shooting out to turn up the volume higher, and higher, and higher, until the base shakes their seats and makes it hard to hear anything else.

And Hinata looks over to Oikawa, and yells out the lyrics to the song, and Oikawa still sounds _beautiful_ when he’s trying to sound bad, whipping his head back and forth as he drives, stopping at the lights to join Hinata’s charade with all the zest and concentration in the world. It's enchanting in a way that shouldn't be— he can't be human if he's still beautiful without makeup and wearing that horrible jacket, shouldn't be allowed to steal Hinata's breath just by bouncing to the beat of a pop song they both love. Maybe Hinata's just biased, too in love to see the flaws. He doesn't mind it, pushes forwards so that his head rests on Oikawa’s shoulder as the last few notes drone out and the volume is turned back down.

Hinata is distracted enough from the fading ecstasy, still riding on the high of the music and Oikawa that he doesn't notice them pull off onto a different exit, climbing up a hill near the edge of the city. The sky is pitch black by now, any stars sadly outshined by Tokyo’s nightlife. Neon lights shine up from the city below as Oikawa parks the car at a lookout, leaving the radio on as a steady hum in the background.

Hinata sighs happily, unbuckling his seat belt and kicking off his shoes. Gingerly, he sets his feet on the dash, admiring how the glow colours his skin a haunty pink.

“It's beautiful,” he muses, looking over to Oikawa with a smile.

Oikawa is already looking at him, taking a hold of his hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing each of the knuckles of his fingers. “You're beautiful,” Oikawa whispers in response.

Hinata's cheeks are pink from the lights and the blush that rises at his words. His heart swells as Oikawa keeps a steady hold on his hand, lips still pressed against it in a smile. Slowly, he sets their hands down, raising the other to trace his fingertips over Hinata's cheek. And as easy as breathing, Oikawa guides his face closer, leaning over the centre console to press their lips together.

Hinata loves this part, where he melts in Oikawa’s hands and pushes closer, letting his feet fall back onto the floor as his free hand reaches up to tangle in the strands of Oikawa’s hair. Oikawa kisses languidly, with reverence in every brush of lips, taking his time treasuring Hinata with every breath. Hinata trails his tongue over the bottom of Oikawa’s lip, smiling slightly. It was a good detour, and Hinata could hardly complain when he's got Oikawa Tooru, his _boyfriend_ holding his chin, kissing him with growing passion.

Oikawa shifts to lean further over the centre console, sliding the hand that had been cupping Hinata's cheek down to rest on his side. Hinata shivers through his shirt, parting his lips, allowing Oikawa's tongue to move against his own. Exhaling heavy through his nose, Hinata tightens his hold in Oikawa's hair, so caught up in the sensation of being _close_ to him, like making out in a car like this was their only escape from everyday life. In retrospect, it might be, but it hardly feels like it when everything is this _good_ , when just a glance makes Hinata feel as if he's lying on cloud nine in Oikawa's arms.

The console between them is becoming an issue. Hinata’s body has to twist a little too much to fully enjoy Oikawa, mouth warm and soft and heavenly, and by this point, he can feel the restlessness in Oikawa's breath. Breaking apart, Hinata slips his fingers from Oikawa's hair, watching as brown eyes flutter open to stare at him.

“Scoot back your seat?” Hinata asks, voice soft and catching slightly.

Oikawa’s eyes widen, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of scarlet as he nods, reaching to the side to send his seat back. Slowly, unknowingly being both a tease and the death of Oikawa, Hinata places a knee onto the console, swinging the other leg around to rest beside Oikawa's thigh. As a small noise dies in Oikawa's throat, he settles his other leg, straddling Oikawa in the front seat of his fancy car, taking the initiative to reach for the button that lays back the seat.

“O-okay?” Hinata asks.

“More than okay,” Oikawa rasps, and slings an arm over Hinata’s shoulder, pulling him down into another kiss.

This one is more heated, but gentle all the same. Oikawa is right up against him now, _underneath_ Hinata with his hand resting on the nape of his neck. Hinata can guide the kiss if he wants to, but settles for falling into Oikawa, one arm bracing beside his head and the other on his hip.

It's all a little mind blowing, a _lot_ mind blowing. Oikawa takes kissing seriously, doesn't get lazy with it, rubs his thumb in deft circles on Hinata's neck like he's worshiping his every inch. Like little windstorms, Hinata's focus is thrown around— to the teeth that graze over his lip, to the hand creeping through his hair, to the heavy rise and fall of Oikawa's chest. It's so much to take in, so much to handle, so much to think about as his own hand moves to touch the skin of Oikawa's abdomen where his shirt rode up.

Oikawa sighs, and it’s such a wonderful sound to hear from his lips, like music carried in song or the wind in the trees. Hinata chases the breath, their foreheads pressing together as Oikawa holds him close, chest to chest. Kisses come more askew now, teeth bumping when they don’t stop to pay attention, Oikawa’s grip in his hair growing a little tighter. Hinata wonders if the windows of the car are getting foggy— _God,_ he thinks, _wouldn’t that be a sight—_ but coherent thought loses him when Oikawa keens, the high pitched noise slipping from his lips in a way that makes Hinata dizzy.

There isn’t much time for thinking now, breaths taken hot and heavy, Hinata shifting to find a better angle, hand simply resting on the skin of Oikawa’s torso, feeling the warmth that grows. The tug at his scalp doesn’t hurt, instead makes him fall a little more onto Oikawa’s chest. His composure slips, and the kisses start getting messy. Oikawa hardly minds, so caught up in Hinata to care for skill. The pair break, panting, struggling to catch their breaths as Hinata looks down into Oikawa’s eyes, at his ruffled hair and swollen lips. Oikawa manages a smile that Hinata reciprocates, reeling.

 _Holy shit,_ he thinks. _I kissed him senseless._

“Holy shit,” Hinata says, echoing his thoughts. It comes out cracked, and he’s instantly sent into giggles at the sound of his own voice, as breathy as the kisses the shared and twice as rough. “I— I can’t believe we did that.”

Oikawa laughs, a real, solid laugh, the one where his face scrunches up and he makes that seal-like sound— it’s _hideous_ to some, but to Hinata, it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “Good idea, if you ask me.”

Hinata shakes his head, wordlessly resting their foreheads together. Oikawa hums, and the sound fills the car as his eyes flutter shut. For a moment, there’s silence, comfortable, adoring silence, before Oikawa speaks.

“Hey, Shouyou?” he whispers, opening his eyes. “I love you.”

Hinata feels himself blush— will he ever get used to hearing that? He smiles. “I l-love you too.”

They hold each other’s gaze just like that, not moving, staying still in each other’s arms, so content with the intimacy and adventure of the moment that neither could stand to break it. But eventually, it fades— a car honks from down below, the wind picks up outside— and the two naturally find themselves untangling, Hinata’s left leg asleep and hair standing up every which way.

The car ride back to Oikawa's apartment is calm, the steady buzz of the highway accompanying the little glances they keep taking, looking at each other from the corner of their eyes. Hinata praises the nighttime darkness— there’s no way his crimson cheeks could be visible. There's a small part of him that wouldn't, that _doesn't_ mind the thought of Oikawa catching him blushing now. It feel silly, but it makes his stomach flip, even after all that's happened.

After parking the car in the underground garage and loading their arms with more grocery bags than safe, the two make one, extremely heavy trip back to the apartment. Hinata leans onto Oikawa in the elevator, humming along to the ambient music that plays. A sharp, mechanical _ding_ signals their floor, and the two exit, shuffling along. Taking one trip may have been a horrible, horrible idea, but nothing breaks, shatters or tears, so no one regrets it. The door, luckily, is unlocked. Hinata silently laughs— they just went for _groceries,_  but took long enough that the others returned before they did.

True to that thought, Iwaizumi lies in the living room, sleeping like a rock at the bottom of the sea. The two drop their bags before realizing he’s asleep, and tensely wait to see if the disturbance wakes him. It doesn't, and they share a mutual sigh as Oikawa kisses Hinata's forehead, dragging the groceries to the kitchen.

“I'll get started on putting these away,” he tells him.

“‘Kay, I’ll be there in a sec,” Hinata says, smiling brightly at Oikawa before turning to Iwaizumi’s sleeping form.  

He's haphazardly draped over the couch, drooling just a bit, still in his clothes and sound asleep. Hinata sighs fondly, grabbing a blanket from the other chair. Gently, he drapes it overtop of his sleeping boyfriend, tucking it around his arms so that he's at least somewhat better suited for sleep. Before he leaves, Hinata leans down and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Sleep tight,” he whispers, a smile playing on the edge of his mouth.

Iwaizumi doesn't move or make a response, sound asleep. Hinata's heart swells, and he stays just a moment longer to admire him before heading back to the kitchen.

Oikawa has already made quick work of the groceries, unpacking the last bag as Hinata walks back in. His face lights up as if they haven't seen each other all day, rather than a scant few minutes, and he pulls out a loaf of bread.

“Can I tempt you with a gourmet meal?” he asks. “Toast, with all of the new, fresh delicacies purchased today.”

Hinata raises an eyebrow, unable to keep the laugh that bubbles up from his throat down. “Sure you won't burn it?” he teases.

False disgrace washes over Oikawa. “Shou-chan!” he whisper yells. He pauses, thinking for a moment. “Maybe… maybe you should toast them. I’ll assemble.”

Hinata laughs again, bumping his shoulder into Oikawa’s arm as he takes the bread from him. He moves to turn, but Oikawa is already swooping down, planting a soft kiss onto his lips before anything else. It's quick, but that doesn’t change how giddy Hinata gets when he pulls away and grins, smug and so _happy._

The two make themselves some toast with various kinds of jams and spreads, eating it as they sit on the granite countertops, yawning a little as the day catches up to them. Exhaustion seems to reach Oikawa first, his eyes drooping more and more with every time he rubs them.

“Hey,” Hinata says quietly, resting his head on his shoulder. “Wanna get ready for bed?”

“Mmm,” Oikawa hums, rubbing his eyes for the fifth time. “Will you stay here? Sleep with me?”

“O-of course,” Hinata stammers, blush creeping up his neck. “C’mon, before you pass out.”

Hinata's pre-bed ritual takes less time than Oikawa's, mainly due to his omitting the vigorous skin care routine Oikawa upholds. In the meantime, Hinata shoves his toothbrush into his mouth and opens up his phone.

 

_New Message to: kenma :3_

_hinata!!!: im gonna be staying over tonight, see you tomorrow morning!!!!!_

_hinata!!!: and dont stay up all night !!!!_

_hinata!!!: and remember there are leftovers in the fridge that you can always eat i dont mind!!!!!!!_

_kenma :3: ok have fun with your boyfriends_

_hinata!!!: oikawa is the only one up still, ill tell you the story later_

_kenma :3: leave out the details_

_hinata!!!: ?????_

_hinata!!!: what details_

_hinata!!!: OH_

_hinata!!!: KENAM_

_hinata!!!: KENMA_

_kenma :3: or not_

_hinata!!!: NOT LIKE THAT_

_kenma :3: have a good night either way_

_hinata!!!: nightt!!!!!!_

 

Hinata leans over into the sink, spitting out his toothpaste as Oikawa finishes applying the last of his toner. Hinata wipes the remnants of toothpaste off his face, looking up at Oikawa silently, admiring the shimmer in his honey brown eyes. Slowly, Oikawa leans down, placing another kiss to Hinata's lips. It's slow and gentle and a little sleepy, but they both fall into it, pulling away closer than they began.

“Tadaa,” Oikawa sings. “You taste like mint.”

Hinata giggles again. “So do you.”

The two make their way to Oikawa's bedroom, turning off the lights as they go. Hinata chooses one of Oikawa's sweaters over the pyjamas he'd left here, changing into them with his back facing the dresser. In the many months of modelling at such a high level, Hinata has gotten used to changing in front of people. It's different now, with Oikawa's eyes following his back, looking innocently on as Hinata tugs the sweater over his head. It smells like Oikawa, fresh and bright.

When he turns back around, Oikawa has also changed into sleep clothes, yawning softly as he walks over to Hinata, wrapping him in an embrace. Hinata eases into his arms, enjoying the warmth as they stand there for a few moments before crawling into the bed.

Hinata settles his head onto the multitude of pillows, nestling himself amidst the covers and duvet. Oikawa shuts off the light, creeping up next to him so that they face each other. He wraps an arm around Hinata's side, letting their legs tangle together as Hinata shifts to get comfortable. Oikawa breathes quietly, steadily, his heartbeat loud in the silence of his bedroom. Hinata admires how his hold is softer than any bed or pillow. Seventeen different shades of love blossom underneath his skin, and Oikawa only strokes his cheek, holding Hinata's face in his hand.

“You’re so… peaceful like this,” he muses in amazement. “I feel like if I do anything I'll break this spell.”

Hinata smiles. “I'm not going anywhere, Tooru, don't worry about that.”

Oikawa hums, and the sound travels through Hinata and heats him to the core. In the still darkness, Hinata can make out the hollows of his face, can see the worry lines crease at his eyes.

“We're planning a tour again,” Oikawa tells him. “Cities are all nailed down, and we have rough dates— it'll be for a few months, three? Four? No western dates, mainly just in East Asia.” He continues stroking Hinata's cheek, his demeanour slipping. “I don't want you to think that you're a burden or that, I don't know, you're holding us back. I love you Shouyou, I want you to be with me and with _us_ as much as you can.”

Hinata takes a moment to process the news, staring into Oikawa's eyes as he responds. “It's different now, isn't it? I've learned things, I… I know how important you all are to me, how much I mean to you, how much I love you, Tooru.” The words slip out of his mouth like water, flowing off his tongue despite their weight. The realization washes over Oikawa like the tide, and a stiffness Hinata wasn't aware he was holding releases as he's tugged tighter into Oikawa's arms.

Oikawa kisses his hair, a gesture so soft all Hinata can do is close his eyes and sigh. “I love you so much, Shouyou,” he sighs, content in every word.

Hinata pulls back so that he can look at him and inches closer. The kiss that comes is all but a loving echo of earlier, a shared moment of affection before the need for sleep pulls them under. When they part, Hinata lies his head against Oikawa's chest, and lets the steady beat of his heart lull him into dreaming, protected by his arms and filled with love.

—

 **iwaboy posted a video:** every single one of Those Noises matsukawa makes in songs (+iconic lines)

_3683 notes_

_replies_

**29silverdiamonds** : WOW when he does that bit in french……… BOY am i deceased

 **floralprintblues** : do u ever just remember those breath hitches and then remeber how hanamaki probabaly hears that on a daily basis and just like Yell

 **XXXSEIJOHXXX** : ((ヾ(≧皿≦ﾒ)ﾉ)) im so in love !!!!!

—

 **jpopidolsdaily:** seij-OH! member Iwaizumi Hajime spotted with model Hinata Shouyou getting ice cream!

_image_

_23443 notes_

—

 **@lollipopmattsun:** hey uHHh when can i listen to the beauty that is tangerine, performed by seij-OH!, live, in concert, in my city

 **@prettyboi-892: @lollipopmattsun** i KNOW i have the album i have the merch now where is the concert ive been saving up for!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **@lollipopmattsun: @prettyboi-892** lets cry as we save up for something we dont even know exists :((((((((((((

—

**seij-OH! Started a livestream! Tune in now!**

—

_Livestream Chat_

**_34shiningtrees:_ ** _FIRST VIEW_

 **_fjka-555:_ ** _FIRST LIKE_

 **_babysunflower:_ ** _FIRIST VEIE W_

 **_seijseijseijseijOH:_ ** _hi!!!!!!!!!!!_

 

Oikawa leans forwards, adjusting the camera one last time before sitting back down on the office couch besides the other three. “Yahoo, can you all hear us? Are we showing up on your screens?”

A swarm of various comments, all saying yes in varying lengths, floods in. Iwaizumi nods, watching as the viewer count jumps from two to four thousand in a matter of seconds. No matter how many times they do this, the sheer amount of people who watch always catches him off guard.

Livestreaming is something they, the four of them, got into a habit of doing at Yachi’s recommendation a few years back. Her reasoning was simple— it’s easier for fans outside of Japan to watch the streams instead of TV appearances, and livestreams can be much less of a hassle than any other form of fan interaction. Hanamaki is the one who does it the most— it’s easy to turn on a camera as he runs through old routines or warms up in the dance studio, and to quote his very own words, there’s never a bad time for attention.

Iwaizumi doubts that’s true, but he knows he was joking. Hopefully.

“How’re things going? Have you all been taking care of yourselves?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa sings something that sounds vaguely like _softy_ under his breath. Iwaizumi elbows him in the side, making Hanamaki and Matsukawa snicker.

“We just got back from rehearsal, so sorry if we look like we ran a marathon,” Hanamaki says. “Have you guys been enjoying the album and stuff?”

 

 **_makimore7777_ ** _: YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL_

 **_larryleroy:_ ** _im dyin you gave us a concept we were not prepared for_

 **_oikavva420:_ ** _I LOVE GREEN. PLEASE MAKE A MUSIC VIDEO FOR IT PLEASE_

 **_cutieforreal-love_ ** _: come to norway!_

 **_jucimama:_ ** _I LOVE YOU ALL PLEASE COME TO COSTA RICA_

 **_guuccmcguucc:_ ** _YOUR LAST ALBUM WAS PERFECTION_

 **_macdaddyjesus:_ ** _slow down guys they cant read all these messages_

 **_lilywonder:_ ** _HANAMAKI!!! I LOVE YOU!!!_

 

“Thank you for all the love!” Oikawa exclaims. “We’re all very proud of it, and are happy you’ve enjoyed the comeback. Do you have any questions?”

A flurry of other questions, ranging from likes and dislikes to an opinion on a specific topic to demanding tour dates, rushes into the chat box. Hanamaki leans closer to the monitor, reading the chat as it whizzes by.

“Babyboy666 asks, ‘Mattsun, where did you get your sweater?’” He turns to Matsukawa, raising an eyebrow. “And your response?”

Matsukawa hums, pushing up the long sleeves of his red and black striped sweater. “It's by _Lad Musician,_ from their fall line,” he says. “I don’t know if you saw, but Shou modelled it a few months back.”

 

 **arisagonealice:** shou????

 **weirdpeach45:** who is shou….

 **nevermindneverwinter:** who is shou?

 **oikawasdreamboy:** who is This Shou

 **chiconfleek:** wait does he mean hinata shouyou like the model

 **dollypartition** : is shou like…. who ??? what

 **seij-ohmylord** : guys i think he means hinata

 **nimblefingersby:** hinata shouyou?

 **aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadial:** ohmygod i love hinata shouyou!! if that’s who tehyre talking about!!!

 **blindteal:** the model boy?? i’ve seen some of his stuff

 

Hanamaki laughs as he watches the chat flood with the same question. “Babe, I think you broke them.”

 _“Matsukawa,”_ Iwaizumi stresses. “You're all right, he means Hinata Shouyou.”

“If you haven't seen his runway photos, you should check them out!” Oikawa adds. “He's very talented! His newest stuff is this _amazing_ lookbook from Shigeki Morino’s Patchy Cake Eater brand.”

“Oh yeah, that golden jacket was nice,” Matsukawa comments.

“Okay, next question before Oikawa rambles on for another half hour,” Hanamaki jokes. Oikawa huffs in response, crossing his arms in a childish, pouty manner.

“Fine, fine, I’ll read one,” Oikawa sighs in mock disdain. He reaches up to take a sip of his water as he reads the first question his eyes land on. “Are you da—”

It's a miracle that he reads ahead before speaking, because the entire message reads _are you dating Hinata?_ Oikawa inhales his spit, doubling over coughing and nearly spilling his water all over himself.

“Christ, are you okay?” Iwaizumi asks as Hanamaki and Matsukawa lose their shit in the background.

“Y-yeah,” Oikawa croaks, trying to regain his composure and failing.

“Holy shit, what did you _do?”_ Hanamaki laughs.

Oikawa inhales sharply, clearing his throat. “I drank my water wrong. Sorry!”

Iwaizumi whacks him on the back, sending one last cough through his lungs, clearing them out. Oikawa sits back up straight, fluffing up his hair as Matsukawa snickers.

“I'm reading since you failed,” he says. “Let’s see, Dennydoorman asks us what our current obsessions are.”

Hanamaki side eyes Matsukawa, raising his brows at the question choice before answering.

“I, for one, found this cool crêpe place nearby— it's all I wanna eat,” he says. “It's called _Berry Good!_ and you _will_ get ten cavities and enjoy yourself the whole time.”

“I dunno,” Matsukawa says. “Cat cafe’s seem to be my current dining place of choice."

Hanamaki snickers. “Oh yes, of course, definitely that too.”

“I don’t know about _you two,”_ Oikawa starts, “but this weird smoothie place where you pick your fruit popped up nearby— they have melon soda that's made in store and—”

“You know this question wasn't about food, right?” Iwaizumi interrupts.

“Simple needs, simple pleasures,” Matsukawa says with a wave of his hand.

“Wait. Is the melon-soda place the one with all the pink furniture?” Hanamaki asks.

“Yes!” Oikawa exclaims. “And those cakes in the tins— the coffee ones.”

Iwaizumi sighs heavily. “You go for healthy smoothies and leave with melon soda and cake. Go figure.”

“Oh! Someone asked what our smoothie orders are,” Oikawa chimes. “Mine is pineapple, spinach—”

Matsukawa snorts. “Spinach?”

“It’s _healthy,_ Mattsun! At least I don't put _protein_ in mine like Iwaizumi,” Oikawa chides. The comment earns him a slight shove, almost sending Oikawa out of his seat.

Suddenly, their banter is cut off by the sound of the office door clicking open, all four pairs of eyes flicking to watch as none other than Hinata Shouyou sticks his head in, hair fluffy and slightly curled.

“Hey, guys, I’m— oh!” He jumps, noticing the four crowded around the monitor with a camera perched atop of it. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Shou-chan!” Oikawa chirps, trying to contain himself. “Welcome back!”

“You’re not interrupting, don’t worry,” Iwaizumi says.

Hanamaki leans back to send Hinata a big grin. “Wanna join?”

Oikawa looks over at the monitor and the amount of people yelling a combination of Hinata’s name and begging for him to join in on the fun. “From what I can see, you’re more than welcome to.”

Hinata hesitates, biting his lip in one last attempt to think it over. Eventually, he gives in, dropping his modelling bag and walking nervously into frame, squishing himself between Matsukawa and Hanamaki.

“Geh?! Twenty-one _thousand_ viewers?!” he exclaims, eyes widening as he reads the scene.

“Ah, we only just started,” Iwaizumi winces. “You okay with it?”

Hinata blinks the surprise away, relaxing back into the couch. “Y-yeah, I'm good,” he says. “Um, hello everyone? I'm Hinata Shouyou!”

 

 **jimmijangas:** HINATA

 **shrimpheavennow:** HI BEAUTIFUL BOY!! I LIKE YOUR MODELLING

 **kalvnin:** HINATA HELLO!!!

 **mmmmmmmmmore:** HINATASSDJ

 **pitts1120:** HINATA HINATA HINATA

 **hald4ve:** ITS HINATA OHMYGOD

 **doctorstatic:** hinata!!!!!!!

 

“See? Nothing to be afraid of— they love you!” Hanamaki says. “Why don't you choose a question?”

Hinata stares at the chat as it flies by, dizzied by the numerous times his name appears. It’s a bit overwhelming— taking in the sheer amount of people who _know his name._ It takes a few seconds for him to find one amidst the masses, and when he does, he's just glad he was able to pick one out.

“Umm, let’s see… Lolitaparry wants to know what your skincare routine is, Tooru,” he says, turning to look at Oikawa.

 

 **juliaxburnside:** tooru?

 **dialupnoises:** did he just say tooru?

 **luppedup:** first name? owo whats this??

 **gilligansquare:** tooru???? first name basis????????

 **hostorice:** tooru ;)??

 

The chat floods with the same question again as Hinata tries to cover his mouth in the most discreet way possible. The other four don’t seemed to bothered by it, so he lets his shoulders relax. Matsukawa leans an arm on his shoulder, which in hindsight doesn’t help the yelling in the chat, but the contact calms Hinata down and lets his worries dissipate. Oikawa lights up at the topic, leaning forwards with a smile.

“Well, my skin can get pretty oily so I use a tea tree oil based cleanser twice a day, and then moisturize afterwords. I haven’t found a moisturizer I like so I’ve been jumping from one product to the next,” he says, listing things off. “For masks I use a lemon peeling mask twice a week— it _really_ gets rid of dead skin. Then I’ll use a turmeric and neem mask for brightening and oil control another two days, and on the other days I’ll use a rose based mask for moisture. Oh! And rosewater toner— I made the switch to rosewater and I haven’t regretted it.” He stops, turning towards Hinata and reaching over Matsukawa to pat his cheek. “Shou-chan here is the lucky one, though. All those fancy brands give him free stuff to try. But it’s not like he even needs it, his face is so soft and glowy either way.”

Hinata laughs, blushing slightly. He turns away from the camera, trying to conceal his reaction. “Geh, I’m not— but you and Issei have the softest hair!”

Oikawa hums, beaming at the compliment while Matsukawa runs a hand through his hair. “I’m flattered,” he smirks.

“Someone in the chat says, ‘but doesn’t Iwaizumi have the best biceps?’” Hanamaki tells them, grinning.

 

 **cryloren** : F LE X

 **getgoodgetbad** : this is… gay

 **hajime9387** : PLEASE FLEX

 **uptownfvck** : FLEXFLEXFLEX

**[COMMENT REMOVED FROM CHAT. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM USING SEXUAL OR OFFENSIVE LANGUAGE IN THE CHAT OR RISK GETTING BANNED]**

**gunpowerbaby** : show me the MUSCLES

 

Iwaizumi looks exasperatedly at the chat. “Of course,” he grumbles.

Hinata shyly looks over at him. “I kinda agree…” he says, trailing off with a teasing smile.

“Give the people what they want!” Hanamaki exclaims.

With a heavy sigh, Iwaizumi rolls up one sleeve and flexes like a god on earth. . Hinata hums, barely able to contain his smile as the he watches the skin stretch over the strong muscle underneath, so close he could reach out and touch it—

The chat, notably, goes insane.

They continue on, getting onto a tangent about jogging and ways to beat Iwaizumi in an arm wrestling match. In the end, it leads to Hanamaki shuffling over and challenging him, _right here, right now,_ only to loose in front of thirty-three thousand viewers. He shakes off his loss easily, but makes sure to let Iwaizumi know that their fight will continue on. Hinata, having a front row seat of the entire scene, grows thirstier than he’d like to admit. That, and Matsukawa’s constant hold over his shoulders, the way that when he speaks he _feels_ every word, is a little distracting.

“Uh, I think I need something to drink!” Hinata squeaks, standing up. “Do you guys want anything?”

“Melon soda!” Oikawa chimes.

“Me too,” Hanamaki tells him. “Iwaizumi, Mattsun, what about you?”

“Just water is fine,” Iwaizumi tells them. Hinata nods and turns to Matsukawa to see what his answer is, only for Matsukawa to stand up and move beside him.

“I’ll come with you, Shou,” Matsukawa smoothly interjects. “We’ll be right back.”

Hanamaki raises an eyebrow, but says nothing as the two leave, shutting the office door behind them. The three remaining turn back to the camera, shifting to take up the new room.

“And our quintet is down to three,” Hanamaki says quietly. “Anyone have anymore questions?”

The chat sparks back up, and the three continue to answer questions easily, the conversation shifting from music recommendations to discussions of new stores that have opened up in Tokyo, to a funny anecdote that happened to Iwaizumi while jogging, even to Oikawa going on a tangent about the current state of interstellar travel. Time passes by rather quickly, and before they realize, a half hour has gone by, and Matsukawa and Hinata have yet to return.

 

 **dogdaysrover** : where did matsukawa nd hinata go???

 **giantspacebaby** : go get hinata and matsukawa!!!!!!!

 **imliketeetee** : guys, they’ll come back when they’re ready

 **cottoneyedhoe** : it’s been 32 minutes and counting.... where did they GO

 **colourfulworld** : (lenny face)

 **historiii** : are matsukawa and hinata gonna come back

 

“Chat is asking about the missing parties,” Iwaizumi notes. “They probably got distracted, don’t worry.” He shoots a pointed look at Hanamaki and Oikawa, who raise their hands in mock surrender as if to say _we had no part in whatever they’re up to._ At this point, the three have a pretty good clue of what that is. As if on cue, Matsukawa strolls into the room, balancing three different drinks in his arms, a smug smirk wide across his face.

“Damn, what took you so long?” Hanamaki says.

Matsukawa shrugs, tossing the drinks to them as he sits beside to Hanamaki. “Got caught up in conversation,” he says.

Iwaizumi shoots him a look of _I don’t believe you,_ unscrewing the cap to his water bottle. “Where’s Hinata?”

“Mm, powdering his nose,” Matsukawa hums. Hanamaki pokes his side, and Matsukawa pokes back.

Oikawa scrunches his nose as he looks at the drink in his hand. “Hey, you got me the wrong flavor!” he whines.

“Oops.” Matsukawa shrugs, a cheshire grin playing on his lips. “Guess I got too distracted.” He doesn’t seem that sorry, staring down at his fingernails, lounging into the arm of the couch.

“Makki asked for the same flavor and you got him the right one!” Oikawa huffs, and Matsukawa grows even more smug than before.

Hinata comes in shortly after with a bright, beaming smile set on his face. A slight glow radiates from his cheeks, pink and rosey, warming up the entire room. “Hey guys, what’d I miss?” he asks, a little high pitched, but cheerful in tone. He hands Matsukawa one of the drinks in his arms and sits down between him and Oikawa. At the same time, both Oikawa and Matsukawa shift their posture as if to centre around Hinata, Oikawa resting his head on Hinata’s shoulder and Matsukawa resting his arm on Hinata’s other shoulder. As Oikawa turns to say something, he spots it, clear as day— _another_ mark planted on Hinata’s jaw.

It takes everything in his heart and mind not to say or do something in front of the tens and thousands of viewers. Of _course_ he wants to kiss Hinata— why wouldn’t he? Matsukawa was the smart one to at least leave the room to sneak away. Oikawa isn't an impulsive person, he trusts his instincts and right now they're screaming at him to bid the thousands of people a cheery goodbye and immediately kiss Hinata like it's his life mission. The others are saying _something,_  but it doesn't register— Oikawa is just giddy inside with soda pop bubbles splashing in his chest and little bursts of candy blush and heat on his cheeks. He's been dreaming about moments like this, where they're sharing each other's space and doing arguably risky and stupid things and Oikawa is _still staring_ despite everything.

Someone says something and Oikawa perks back up, snaps out of whatever daze the smooth lines of Hinata's neck captured him in. He snaps his focus back to the camera and flashes a dazzling smile as Hanamaki says something about it getting late or needing to start dinner or a next appearance or _something._

“Thank you all for letting me sit in!” Hinata chirps excitedly, bouncing his feet on the ground. There's half a second where everyone in the room sighs so softly, so fondly, before returning to their bodies and smiling a little bit wider, signing off with matching smiles of inexplicable brightness only defined by new love.

The camera is shut off and the tab closed, and the second Hinata lets his shoulders relax, Oikawa is swooping forwards and burying his head into his neck, wrapping him up into a hug with a deep hum. Hinata releases a sound that resembles a quiet _eep!_ and Matsukawa and Hanamaki laugh at how Oikawa refuses to let go.

Iwaizumi pinches the bridge of his nose, his exasperation only minor. The lilt to his voice and the slight smile gives it away as he speaks. “Matsukawa, did you _honestly—”_

 _“_ H-he did,” Hinata says, somewhat sheepishly, Matsukawa shooting Iwaizumi a smug grin. Hinata's smiling with the same giddiness Oikawa feels, and as Oikawa pulls back, he can see the gleam of wonder in his eyes.

“I love you,” Oikawa blurts out. He then leans forwards and kisses Hinata with both hands on his cheeks. Hinata laughs into the kiss, and it’s hardly _good_ but Oikawa could never care, not now, not ever.

Oikawa pulls back a fraction of an inch at first, and they look at each other before pulling away completely, both turning to face the other boys with faces pink and smiles almost painful. Hanamaki sighs and rests his head on Matsukawa’s shoulder, and somehow, Hinata worms his hand into Iwaizumi’s without words.

“We are,” Iwaizumi begins, bewildered. “The most surreally lucky people.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes. “Sap,” he says.

“Oh, shut up, you lament about your gay woes too,” Matsukawa teases, kissing his cheek.

Everyone laughs at that, and it feels cathartic, feels good, feels like falling into cotton balls and the warmth that still radiates between Oikawa and Hinata's bodies. Hinata closes his eyes and hums, head falling onto Oikawa's shoulder with a soft _thud_ that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Wanna order in and watch weird documentaries while cuddling and not paying attention?” Hinata asks.

 _“Yes,”_ everyone choruses. Somehow, a heaviness lifts off of Oikawa's shoulder, and he too closes his eyes. There's a small part of him that wants to _feel_ this moment, to immortalize the sensation of Hinata breathing into his neck and the carefree attitude of being with his best friends. A lingering fear of this passing escapes his mind, pushed out by a hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck,

“It sounds wonderful,” Oikawa reiterates. He hopes Hinata realizes he's talking about him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW. that ended up long. chapters probably will be in and around 10k each, ish. we'll see, you know how i get if youve read anything ive wrote, which i assume you have!!! 
> 
> questions, comments, or just wanna yell about ships and fics with us? you can find us on tumblr @mooksmookin and @spacegaykj. also, i post fic updates to my twitter @mookzymooks. thank you for reading!


	2. versace on the floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hey hi its kj !!! long time no see hahahahhaahahaha im a mess but me and mooks been working on A LOT so here it is... the gayest chapter yet....... have fun mon amis
> 
> this chapter is 70% gay stuttering, 20% gay tension, and 10% internal monologues about clothes. enjoy.
> 
> as always, written by me, and beta'd by my best friend, the one, the only, mooksmookin
> 
> chapter title from bruno mars' song of the same name!! enjoy~

**_seij-OH! Official Posted A New Update :_ **

 

_image.jpg_

 

_Welcome to the Kingdom of seij-OH! Coming to a city near you._

 

 _LOCATIONS_ _/_ _DATES_ _/_ _PACKAGES_ _/_ _MEETUPS_ _/_ _ALBUM_

—

Hinata isn’t going to lie— after so many months in the modelling industry, the money in his once pitiful bank account was rising steady. He’s not an impulsive spender by any means, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at all of the clothes and makeup he models with a sigh of jealousy, before realizing _he could buy that now._ Before, he was still shopping off online sales and taking whatever beautiful free samples shoots would provide. With a newfound freedom discovered, Hinata opens up his phone.

 

_hinata!!!: anyone wanna go shopping????_

_takahiro ( ˘ ³˘)♥: oh yell yeah_

_issei <3: what for? _

_hinata!!!: uhhhhhhhh clothes_

_hinata!!!: shoes i need shoes i wore out the soles of my sneakers and have a hole in my dress shoes_

_hinata!!!: also its getting cold and maybe a jacket?????? i cleaned out my closet awhile ago so it’s pretty bare!!!_

_issei <3: nice ill tag along _

_tooru（*´▽｀*）︎ : (´；Д；`) as much as id love to go… i need to talk to the higher ups…_

_hinata!!!: noooooo_

_tooru（*´▽｀*）︎ : (。┰ω┰。)_

_tooru（*´▽｀*）︎ : OH NO shimizu wants to see me wish me luck in doing all the hard jobs_

_hajime（´・｀ ）♡: We appreciate it even if you complain_

_hajime（´・｀ ）♡: Also I need some new stuff, too. I’ll tag along?_

_takahiro ( ˘ ³˘)♥: we are gonna look so good after this_

_takahiro ( ˘ ³˘)♥: can we take the telsa oikawa????_

_tooru（*´▽｀*）︎ : yes pls be careful okay i REALLY have to go i love u god please dont die in my car_

 

And so brings him to the present, riding shotgun as Iwaizumi weaves through the traffic with ease, fiddling with the radio dials for a song they could listen to. Matsukawa and Hanamaki lounge in the backseat, leaning unsafely against the strain of their seatbelts in effort to be closer or to simply keep an aura of careless posture, grinning as they look at Hinata through the mirrors. The radio flickers from broadcast to broadcast, white noise accompanying the blur of their surroundings whizzing by. Eventually, Matsukawa hooks up his phone to the car’s system and plays music with heavy bass that seeps through their seats and makes Hanamaki get comically excited. Hinata laughs alongside Matsukawa at his reaction, and even Iwaizumi manages to crack a smile as he pulls off into the parking garage of some high end mall.

Hinata isn’t sure what to expect out of this shopping trip. He hopes no one gets bored— really, he could’ve gone alone— but he has boyfriends and wants to spend time with them as much as he can. The low ceilings and dim lights of the garage pass overhead, and Hinata shyly notices a few stares, other shoppers admiring the car.

It’s a nice car. Hinata remembers him and Oikawa, sitting on a hill looking over the whole city, remembers climbing over onto Oikawa, remembers hands in hair and lips on necks. It is a _very_ nice car.

The four head up the elevator to the mall’s main floor, taking in the well dressed teens and sharply suited adults who pass by with bags or phones in hand. It’s a huge building with glass ceilings and marble floors, posh chairs and big store fronts. Hinata feels a little out of his element, only now remembering his discomfort with having to interact with sales people, and still unsure if he’s even allowed to hold someone’s hand. Luckily, Matsukawa smoothly wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in close, reassuring him without words that all is fine.

“Oooh,” Hanamaki says as they begin walking. “Shouyou, didn’t you model for that brand?”

Hinata turns to follow Hanamaki’s gaze towards a gold store front reading the name _Sylica Vance,_ realizing that he has, in fact, done a shoot with them.

“Would it be weird for me to go in there?” he asks, biting his lip. “I mean, like, is that awkward? It shouldn’t be, right?”

“I think you’ll be okay,” Iwaizumi assures him. “C’mon, they have cool shoes.”

The interior of the store is bright and sleek, with electronic pop pulsing through the speaker and a put together staff member on hand to greet them at the door. Her eyes go wide a little bit at the sight of them, but Hinata doesn’t pay it any mind, used to the attention his boyfriends usually gain when in public. He smiles to her before heading off with Matsukawa to look at the shoes, modern and bright sneaker designs with large soles and high tops. It’s only after a few minutes of browsing that Hanamaki taps his shoulder with a barely contained smirk, pointing towards the posters along the walls— a few of which he is in.

Hinata flushes red, immediately burying his face into Matsukawa’s shoulder, who snickers. “Shou, you’re famous,” he says, nudging him slightly.

“I forget that people actually see those,” he mumbles, face still presses against his shoulder. Matsukawa moves so that he’s forced to look back up and towards the poster. It’s not bad— Hinata is wearing a button down shirt and shiny leather pants, which admittedly look very sharp on him. Still, the lingering embarrassment of only now realizing what caused the sales person’s reaction makes for a moment he's sure he won’t live down.

After that store, they move along, Iwaizumi stopping to buy athletic wear in a shop that smells like brand new shoes and fresh tape. Hanamaki and Matsukawa dick around as he pays, Hinata standing by Iwaizumi as he watches, amused as they toss the soccer balls to one another with surprising amounts of coordination. Still, Iwaizumi looks very glad to leave the store, and the ball, behind before anything is broken.

“Mm, Shou, wanna play a game?” Matsukawa says as they stroll past a womenswear store with a picture of Alisa at the front. Hinata flicks his attention back to him, cocking his head.

“What is it?” He asks apprehensively.

“Well, we pick out some outfits, and you try them on,” Matsukawa says simply. “You’re a model, after all.”

“That… doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Iwaizumi chimes in.

“You’re right,” Hinata adds. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Absolutely nothing!” Hanamaki says and hooks his arm with Hinata’s, dragging him off into another store. “I’m gonna go first.”

Hanamaki ends up choosing an outfit with an embroidered sweater and light washed jeans, loose fitting with heart patches over the knees. The jacket is denim, with patches and torn hems and he even insists on picking out a pair of suede shoes. Hinata likes it all, clothes fitting snug and and shoes pretty comfortable. He steps out to show Hanamaki, only for another two pairs of shoes to be handed to him with earnest.

“God, you look _amazing,”_ Hanamaki says. “You gotta try these boots on though, we'll see what looks good. C'mon, I'll help.”

Hinata laughs at his insistence but follows the direction, walking back into the changing room to sit down and slip on the shoes. He's so focused on making sure not to damage the shoes he's wearing now that he doesn't notice Hanamaki’s lazy grin as he sets the new shoes on the ground and sits down next to him. Hinata is surprised at that, but smiles nonetheless, not expecting Hanamaki to bend down and catch him in a kiss.

Shoes forgotten, Hinata relaxes into him, his hands reflexively reaching up to wrap over top of Hanamaki’s shoulders. There's something almost enticing about the semi publicity of it all, how Hanamaki pushes him against the stall and smirks against his lips, how Hinata's noise of surprise is muffled by his mouth. Eventually, Hanamaki pulls away, brushing a thumb against Hinata’s lips, grinning at the breath he's stolen.

“So much for the shoes,” Hinata whispers, resting his palm against Hanamaki’s shoulder, leaning back his head so that it presses against the wall.

Hanamaki chuckles. “Yeah, but do you like them?”

Hinata shrugs, a coy smile playing on his lips. “I like _you.”_

Hanamaki freezes for a moment, staring at Hinata with surprise. He shakes his head, pressing his lips to Hinata's once, twice, before pulling back with a smile.

“How about I go put those back, and you get back into your day clothes?” Hanamaki suggests, fingers softly brushing against Hinata’s cheek.

Hinata nods, cheeks flushed, hands slipping off of Hanamaki’s back as he stands up and picks the other two pairs of shoes off the ground, casting Hinata one more smile before leaving the changeroom.

It takes less time than Hinata would expect for him to change back into his clothes, despite his pounding heart and giddy hands. He takes the clothes to the counter and rings them up, paying without even having to wince at the price. When he turns around to find the others, he sees Hanamaki approaching him, grabbing his hand, sees Matsukawa and Iwaizumi leaning at the front of the store waiting for them both. Hinata waves as he approaches, and Iwaizumi insists on carrying his bags as they head off to another shop.

Iwaizumi chooses the outfit this time. The shop attendant takes down all of the clothes that Iwaizumi chooses, carrying them across the store with poise and grace despite the weight of what they carry. Iwaizumi consults Hinata on the little details, asks his opinion on the colour of pants or if he thinks something looks nice. It's the exact kind of thoughtfulness Hinata has grown to expect from him, and he cherishes it, thanking him and his unique ideas for giving him the amazing outfit— a cream and blue striped sweater with a crisp but soft button down underneath, loose fitting blue jeans with lace sewn over the knees and a long, tan jacket. Hinata spins around after trying the outfit on, enjoying how the coat seems to drown him yet allow him to move perfectly. He looks up to Iwaizumi, catches his look of fondness and grins. Something in his heart squeezes, and Hinata can't help but avert his eyes and wring out his hands.

Matsukawa is all but waiting to whisk Hinata off, kissing the top of his head and pointing out a few different stores. Iwaizumi and Hanamaki take it upon themselves to carry the bags, leaving Hinata free to press up into Matsukawa’s side. The warmth of his body contradicts the cool, sleek interior of all around them, elegant light fixtures dangling as they climb the escalator to the top floor. Hinata’s heart squeezes— he _likes_ being spoiled, as embarrassing as it may sound.

The store Matsukawa leads him into his quiet, but bright inside. _Channel_ is etched carefully into the doorway, and Hinata does his best to straighten his back as they walk in. A woman at the front offers to take any coats, which they don’t have, and greets them by name, politely complimenting their work. Hinata, unsure of how to respond, just smiles, looking around curiously at the elegant clothes hung up and displaced.

“If there’s anything that catches your eye, let me know,” Matsukawa murmurs, the pair looking around the store as the attendant hovers. He nods towards a white knit sweater, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. “What do you think?”

Hinata bites his lip, inspecting the material. “It’d look nice paired with a darker jacket… maybe one of those browns that look at burnt,” he tells him, waving a hand as if it could help illustrate a colour. “I’m afraid it won’t pair with my hair.”

“Mm, I disagree,” Matsukawa says.

“Ah, sirs, can I show you this coat?” the attendant asks, motioning them over. The coat in question is amber and warm, fluffy and soft to touch. Hinata’s eyes widen at the sight of it, and he nods without even considering any other factors.

Matsukawa leads him around the floor, the attendant helping them to find whatever idea pops into either of their heads— Hinata spots a soft ruffled womenswear blouse with an intricate pattern and recites his measurements to the attendant to snatch one, all while blessing his small stature. The attendant is more than happy to select the sizes needed for everything they as much as glance at, and Matsukawa is more than happy to push Hinata to indulge himself, to pick up the pair of high waisted printed pants or the hats.

Matsukawa looks over Hinata and smiled. "Channel suits you, don't you think?"

Hinata licks his lips, looking down at his shoes. "Ah, you think?" he asks. "I mean, my entire career is wearing clothes. I should suit something."

Matsukawa hums, his hand playing with the hair at the back of Hinata's neck. "To be fair, you make any piece of clothing look designer. It's your charm."

They lean on each other as they wait for the attendant to come back with the clothes they picked out— twelve different items, all unique and captivating in their own way. Hinata sighs as he tries to think about which ones he should purchase. He didn't ask about the price on anything, but they likely ranged higher than he'd ever spent on clothes before. Despite the pay raise, he isn't quite sure he's ready to drop so much on it.

"You're drooping all of a sudden," Matsukawa notices. "S'all right? You wanna grab something to drink?"

"No, no!" Hinata assures him. "I'm fine, I'm just... y'know, thinking about which pieces I'll end up buying."

Matsukawa blinks. "Who said you were gonna buy them?"

"Eh?!" Hinata exclaims. "You don't mean—"

"Why shouldn't I spoil you? You want it, and I can afford it. I want to," Matsukawa explains. Idly, his hand slips down to the small of Hinata's back, an ever present pressure that grounds him as his cheeks begin to heat.

The attendant walks back with a sugar coated smile of someone paid on commission with the clothes in their proper sizes folded neatly in her arms. Hand still on his back, Matsukawa guides Hinata to the front counter to pay, using one hand to hand the woman his debit card and the other to rub soothing circles through Hinata's shirt. Hinata buries his face into Matsukawa's shoulder, disbelief of the situation still prominent. Once upon a time, he could only _dream_ of wearing these clothes, can still recall fantasies of shopping sprees with the very celebrity that tucks the receipt into his wallet and slings the bags onto his free arm.

It still hits him, this star-stuck realization that things he used to daydream about are his everyday life. His smile grows dumb and wide, giddiness swelling in his chest as he leans further into Matsukawa. That smile is just as wide when he kisses him after they leave, lightheaded and vision swirling as they pile into the car together, holding onto the fragments of a day that, amazingly, is just _life._

Sometimes, he forgets this isn’t all a dream.

—

Tokyo is a busy city. After months of working and living in it, Hinata has gotten to know the quirks of the traffic and the streets, has gotten used to the personality of the streets and the character it brings. Most days, Hinata catches a taxi to work. His shoots are so spread out that it’s often the easiest way to get where he needs to go on time, but today, all he’s scheduled for is a meeting with Kuroo in his fancy office. It’s hardly the first time he’s had to visit, so Hinata is more than comfortable with walking part of the way, taking in the warmth that lingers still in September.

The sun is clouded over, but the sky's still bright enough that Hinata perches a pair of rounded sunglasses on his nose as he walks along, humming softly as he waits for the crosswalk light to turn green. In the pockets of his pants— floral, high waisted— his phone buzzes. Hinata steps forwards with the light and pulls it out, checking the new email that had came through idly as he walks.

It’s a perfectly normal day. Hinata plans to stop by HQ on his way back to the apartment and see if any of his boyfriends are free for lunch before heading home to play a new game Kenma picked up the day before. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing wrong, nothing to worry about.

Of course, _nothing_ ever goes that smoothly.

Hinata may be optimistic, and to some, naive, but he surely isn’t unobservent. He writes off the first camera shutter, continuing on his way, but when the people around him start to stare and whisper, he turns his head to see what’s going on. Four men with fancy looking cameras walk only a foot to his left, the flashes hard to bear even with sunglasses on. One of them calls out Hinata’s name, and he has to fight the habit to acknowledge them by speeding up slightly, pulling out his phone and pretending to look busy.

“Hinata Shouyou, this way!”

“Hinata, can we get a smile?”

“Who are you wearing?”

It isn’t as if Hinata hasn’t seen paparazzi before. It’s simply just that whenever he runs into them, he’s with one of his boyfriends, who are much more experienced in the way of shaking them off. It’s a rarity in itself that they’ve decided to target him alone. Hinata sighs, peering around the corner. There’s only one more block until he gets to Kuroo’s building, surely he can deal with them until then.

More than anything, the situation is an annoyance. The forever nervous part of him wants to apologize to the passerbys who get shoved and jostled as he passes. All he can do is hold his head high and try not to look to eager as he walks up the steps and into the safety of Kuroo’s office building.

Slipping his sunglasses off and hooking them onto the front of his shirt, Hinata heads for the elevator, to relieved to be off camera to be anxious about whoever he might meet. Leaning against the mirrored walls, he waits for the _ding_ that signifies his floor and takes a moment to collect himself before stepping back out into the world.

Kuroo is waiting in his corner office, spinning in slow circles in his chair as he stares out of the window. For all of his professionalism, Hinata often catches him in odd moments such as these, where that aura of intimidation is completely nonexistent. At the sound of the door clicking closed behind him, Kuroo stops, and the aura is turned back on as he stands.

“Hinata,” he calls out, smiling with half his face. “You’re usually early.”

“Ah!” Hinata exclaims, rubbing the back of his neck as he takes a seat. “You know, paparazzi and such.” _Paparazzi and such— you sound like a celebrity,_ he thinks.

Kuroo shrugs, opening his laptop. “Don’t worry about it, it’s normal. Have you been practicing walking in platforms? Odds are that the _Limitless Co._ walk is going to have you in them.”

Hinata nods. “Yeah, it’s not that hard.” In his lap, he plays with his hands, trying not to resort to picking the skin around his nails. “Was that what you wanted to talk about?”

Kuroo chuckles. “No, just making conversation,” he tells him. “Might as well get right to it then. I’ve pretty much secured you a spot in next seasons Tokyo Fashion week.”

“You’re kidding,” Hinata says, leaning forwards on the edge of his chair. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope. After _Commes Des Garcons_ there were lineups to get you. I’m still working out the details, but it’s pretty much set in stone that you’ll be there,” Kuroo says. “But, in the meantime, I’ve been thinking about publicity.”

Hinata hums. He’s too busy thinking about the fact that he’s going to be in _Tokyo Fashion week._ Thoughts swarm his mind of the bright lights and the excitement, of the best of the best, of something that still seems so far away for being so close.

“The plan is to send you to some location shoots around the country for some big names. Recognition, see you in some other places, get you on the map,” Kuroo explains. “Think of it as a trial of sorts. I’ve got ideas for you— in a few months time the next trip could be to Seoul, or Milan, or Paris.”

Hinata lights up at that, eyes widening as he’s brought back to the moment. “Like a tour?” he asks.

“Speaking of,” Kuroo begins. “I’ve coordinated with your... friends’ manager Shimizu so some of the dates line up with their tour. I figured you’d all like to stick together. Of course, yours is shorter, and only lasts all of two months comparatively.”

At that, Hinata stops trying to contain his excitement, kicking the legs of his seat as he falls back in awe. “Oh my— Kuroo, this is all so great, I— thank you so much,” he says, grasping at composure as his mind runs wild with possibilities of hotel rooms and dates in new cities, of going from shoot to concert and watching his boyfriends perform on stage again. “Will you send me the details?”

“Of course,” Kuroo tells him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited before.”

“It’s _fashion week!”_ Hinata exclaims. “And a tour! What else am I supposed to feel?” He jumps up from his seat, not noticing the stapler he knocks over in his excitement. “Oh my god, can I be excused? Do people ask to do that from meetings? I just _really_ wanna call, like, Tooru about this because he said he’d be free and was so wor—”

Kuroo spins his chair to face the window, waving his hand as he does so. “Go talk to your boys,” he drawls. Part of the collected demeanour he has managed to establish shatters once more as his chair continues spinning. Hinata can’t even bring himself to laugh or tease, yelling his goodbyes so loud the entire floor must’ve heard. He’s already got his phone out, dialing Oikawa’s number in the elevator on his way down. Needless to say, Oikawa picks up after only four rings.

 _“Hey there,”_ he sings. His voice sounds a little breathy, as if he had just ran up three flights of stairs. _“What has you calling?”_

“I love you,” Hinata blurts out. His face reddens, and _god_ he can see it in the mirror of this huge elevator. He can hear Oikawa sputtering out in surprise across the line. “Uh— yes, right, um— yeah! I’m gonna do out of town shoots and runways and stuff? Like a publicity tour! Kuroo just told me.”

Oikawa gasps. _“Really?”_

“Really!” Hinata shouts. “And— and— guess what?”

_“What?”_

“He said he talked to Shimizu and that it’s gonna line up with your guys’ tour for awhile,” Hinata tells him. “We’re gonna get to be on the road together!”

 _“You’re joking!”_ Oikawa exclaims, and his voice jumps an octave like it always does when he’s shocked. Hinata laughs, the elevator making a soft ding to signify his arrival.

“Nope!” he tells him, walking out of the building and onto the street. By now, the paparazzi has vanished, leaving a clear way for Hinata to hail a cab. “Are you guys working? I could swing by HQ and tell the others if you’re not too busy.”

On the other end, Oikawa sighs. _“I’ve got a radio interview with Matsukawa, Hanamaki is choreographing for another group, but I’m not sure what Iwa— oh! He’s doing a press thing I think? I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention,”_ Oikawa tells him. The pep in his tone dulls for a moment, line going silent until he speaks again. _“Can you come over tonight? We should celebrate.”_

Hinata smiles. “Hey, babe?”

 _“Mrphm,”_ Oikawa mumbles, the sound strangled in his throat. Hinata is about to ask what happened when he follows up with a choked, _“Yes?”_

“I’d love to,” Hinata replies. “See you tonight then?”

_“I love you, yes, absolutely! Will you bring popcorn?”_

“The microwave kind?”

_“Duh, you know me.”_

Hinata snorts, heart swelling. “Alright, of course. Love you, bye!”

_“Bye-bye, Shou-chan. I love you bunches, take care!”_

The call ends, and Hinata has to count backwards from twenty before even _trying_ to relay his address to the taxi driver. Something about calling Oikawa never ceases to make him stammer, make his heart beat in double time. The driver takes off, begins the pattern of weaving through the streets and traffic and leaves Hinata to his own thoughts, which, granted, contain not much else other than Oikawa’s voice saying _I love you_ in an endless cycle.

When he gets back to his apartment, he spends nearly ten minutes screaming into his pillow in pure glee. There’s no way anyone could blame him.

—

It isn’t often that Iwaizumi wakes himself up before noon, let alone nine-thirty. Sleep is a treasured thing when nights run late and practice rooms become second home, something that is usually taken in arm chairs or on company couches whenever he can manage. He’s not proud of spending over twenty-four hours in the studio, but it happens. So when the time comes to sleep at home, especially after a long night of working, Iwaizumi is the first to hit the hay. That all changes when Hinata texts him at seven-thirty, pulling him from his comfortable sleep with the offer of going jogging together. His bed is soft, sure, but it’s nothing when compared to early morning Hinata.

That brings him to the present, pulling on his striped track pants and a black tank, filling up two bottles of water knowing that Hinata would likely forget in a rush to meet him. The sun has yet to break through the clouds, and the only source of light comes from the lamp above the stove. The apartment still feels asleep, out of reach. Iwaizumi is the only one awake, the only accompanied by the city birds that coo from outside of the open window. It’s nice, Iwaizumi realizes, this time alone. Their group is so often bustling, so often loud and so _much._ This quiet time spent contemplating is welcomed, almost as much as the soft knock on the front door.

Hinata waits in the doorway, somehow grinning, somehow without a trace of sleep in his eyes. Iwaizumi kisses his forehead in hello, stands back to watch his reaction to the small action. He laughs, quietly, shyly, per usual, blushes, rubs his neck. Hinata wears green sports shorts and a thin hoodie that's much too long on the arms. It’s grey— is it his? Iwaizumi isn’t sure, but if his gut is telling the truth it just might be. His stomach flips inside out twice in the time it takes him to say _good morning_ and pass him his water bottle, turning as Hinata thanks him, having forgotten his own.

“Do you have a route you usually jog near here?” Hinata asks, watching as Iwaizumi shoves his feet into his sneakers. His voice is hushed, but he’s never been that good at whispering. Hinata demands attention— his voice is no different. It fills up the entire space with its lilts and tones, sounds like a smile and the trees that rustle in the wind.

“It changes. I usually try to go through some parks, though. They won’t be busy at this time, I don’t think,” Iwaizumi tells him. He looks up and instantly regrets it— Hinata’s freckles look so warm in the backlighting of the apartment hall, his eyes seemingly luminous and outshining all of the artificial lights. Iwaizumi can feel his ears heating up, double knots his laces and pulls himself up to a stand in effort not to let anymore of his flush show.

Iwaizumi leads the way along the route, a few paces in front of Hinata for the first few minutes. Hinata keeps up easily with him, with only one earbud in, the other free to listen to the early morning city sounds and his own heartbeat. They aren’t pushing themselves to the extremes, but talking wouldn’t be easy, so they fall into a quiet rhythm, one of just _being_ together, talking without speaking, sharing glances out of the corners of their eyes. Hinata glows, skin shining as the sun washes over it. Iwaizumi is staring blatantly now, slowing his pace just so he can watch.

And Hinata, catching him staring, just smiles so coy, tongue caught between teeth as he bumps their shoulders together. “Wanna pick up the pace?”

Iwaizumi does _not_ blush, and even if he did, he’s confident it wouldn’t show. He also does not trip over his words in trying to choke out a simple _yes,_ does not let his eyes linger on Hinata’s collarbone as the boy beside him begins to jog faster. Iwaizumi follows in suit, tearing his eyes away to focus on the road ahead, thoughts still left swirling around _Hinata, Hinata, Hinata._

Eventually, they both slow down in mutual need of a breather. Hinata doesn’t seem tired despite the heavy breaths and the sweat shining on his forehead. He rocks back and forth of the balls of his feet as he struggles comedically with the cap of his water bottle, the grooves not on quite right, rending it almost impossible to open. With a loud _pop,_ the lid pops right off, dribbling water over Hinata’s hands and onto the ground. Iwaizumi smiles, opening his mouth to comment only to promptly freeze in place.

Hinata Shouyou brings the bottle to his lips, tilts back his head and drinks, not paying any mind to the water that slides down the corners of his mouth. Iwaizumi struggles not to crush his own water bottle in his hand at the sight of it, at the sight of _Hinata_ so oblivious to what he’s doing. Iwaizumi’s eyes automatically drift to his jaw, to his throat, to the barely there whispers of past hickies faded. His stomach flips upside down, and _now_ he can admit he blushes. Ripping his eyes away a moment too late, he watches Hinata wipe his hand across his mouth as he swallows, sighing heavily with refreshment and no clue.

“Ah, it’s so warm out,” Hinata whines, fanning himself with one hand. “I should’ve ditched the hoodie.”

“Tie it around your waist,” Iwaizumi suggests, voice rougher than he would’ve liked. He blames it on the running. “You’re going to overheat.”

Hinata sighs. “But then I have to carry it! We just have to get back, no distractions, and then all will be okay. No harm, no foul, no carrying.”

Iwaizumi moves a little closer, so that when they walk, their hands brush. “Don’t push yourself too hard,” he warns, but it’s lighthearted, with a smile curling on his lips. Hinata laugh and ducks away— maybe he noticed the tension in the air, or the gravel in Iwaizumi’s voice. Either way, as they speed back up into a jog, they stay close, stay quiet, still stealing glances and little grins and bumping hands instead of taking them. Whatever they’re doing, this flirting, these shared looks, is building tension and tension on the strings of Iwaizumi’s heart. Hinata laughs as they head back up the elevator, though Iwaizumi isn’t sure at what. He watches as Hinata leans his head back, resting it against the wall before cracking open an eye to look back at Iwaizumi.

He’s saved from the tension and his own screaming pulse by the doors opening to their floor and Hinata nearly tumbling out, saving himself from falling by latching onto Iwaizumi’s arm. His face is turned away, but the back of his neck is rosy as ever, the tell-tale sign of Hinata infamous blush. Iwaizumi looks down at his watch. _11:30,_ it reads. Much too early for dying because his boyfriend doesn’t know what he does to him.

As they approach the front door, Hinata slips his hand into Iwaizumi’s, leaning over so that his head rests against his arm. Every point of contact lights into flames, and Iwaizumi thinks about kissing him just as the door shuts behind them.

But of course, he doesn’t get the chance.

“Iwaizumi! Can you make breakfast? Oikawa burnt toast again,” Hanamaki calls.

“It didn’t catch on fire this time!” Oikawa calls out defensively. His voice is muffled by a couch cushion he presses directly into his face. “And excuse me if I didn’t want to starve!”

And despite the little drop in his stomach, Iwaizumi can’t help but flutter when Hinata laughs and offers to help, squeezing his palm once more before trudging off into the kitchen, still wearing his— Iwaizumi’s— hoodie. Oikawa has yet to look up from his small corner of cooking related shame and god knows where Matsukawa could be. Really, he’s not one to talk— he’s still flustered, covered in sweat, and still standing at the front door with his shoes on. Rolling his eyes more endeared than annoyed at the sitcom of his life, Iwaizumi sighs. A shower, first, then he’ll help with breakfast. Then he can try and find the moment again.

—

 _Limitless Co._ is an up-and-coming brand that nearly every agent was tripping over themselves to sign models for. Even Hinata, who was so new to the industry, could tell they were headed places. It’s exactly why he’s so excited to walk for them for their upcoming spring/summer collection— Kuroo has his face to the brand, and Hinata gets the satisfaction of being their first.

Of course, it’s only natural his boyfriends all attend as well.

It’s the first runway since they’ve started dating, which makes it all the more exciting for him. Hinata left his own apartment at seven-thirty, just as Kenma was heading to sleep. He sent the group chat a quick text that he was headed out, reminded them of the time, and went on his way to deal with the hours of prepwork. After a little while, he has company— Kageyama was walking the same show, but he only seemed capable of talking to him through challenges or steely glares at this point, so Hinata sticks to chatting with the stylists as they fix his nails up and gossip about whatever it is they’re curious about.

He’s got two different outfits to walk for this show. The first is shiny leather pants— fitted to hug his legs like a second skin— and a shiny golden silk shirt. The sleeves are loose, ruffling and flaring at each end around the wrists, and around his chest is a triangular cut out he already _knows_ he’ll get flack for. Staring at it, it _does_ seem like a boob hole, he supposes, even if all it shows on him are his collarbones and the tops of his pectorals.

The second outfit is a sight, to say the least. Black leggings with mesh stripes up each legs pair with a shirt that probably counts as the most risque thing Hinata’s ever worn. Thin black stripes criss cross over his abdomen, one reaching up his chest to connect to the rest of his shirt. Most of his chest is left bare and open, a few white mesh strips leaving not much else to the imagination. There are sleeves, at least, ones that hand long over his hands, the back of the shirt falling low down his thighs. He’s a little nervous about walking out into a room full of hundreds of strangers in it, but the fear is mostly cancelled out by the thought of his boyfriends’ reactions.

An hour before the show starts, Hinata meets his boyfriends in the hall backstage, still in a robe to cover up the clothes per mandatory. Technically, this isn’t allowed, but it’s been happening long enough that Hinata has stopped worrying over it and has accepted it’s a part of his career.

“You’re gonna do wonderfully,” Oikawa tells him, kissing him ever so gently as not to smudge his lipstick.

“He’s right, all you gotta do is knock ‘em dead,” Hanamaki adds, Matsukawa humming beside him.

“You’re always the star of the show, babe” Matsukawa says, reaching forwards to brush his fingers across his chin. Hinata blushes twice the colour of the rose he already has on, and averts his eyes.

“Guys, you’re killing me,” he mumbles, shying away from all their stares. When he looks back up, it’s to meet Iwaizumi’s softened eyes, to follow how they flick over his collarbone, to watch how his tongue darts out to quickly lick his lips.

“We’re all cheering for you, Shouyou,” Iwaizumi tells him, and _oh_ Hinata wishes that tension from the other day was resolved right about now, because his head is spinning and he needs to be able to walk in thirty-two minutes. Iwaizumi steps closer and takes one of his smaller hands in his, kissing Hinata’s dainty knuckles so gently for someone whose hands have been shaped with callous. As Hinata regains reign over his breathing, he manages to smile without fainting.

“Hinata Shouyou? Makeup wants to see you,” some intern calls, and that’s enough for Hinata to snap out of his daze and offer his boyfriends one last grin before scurrying off, their calls of _love you_ and _good luck_ ringing like background noise.

 _Showtime,_  he tells himself, the phantom touch of Iwaizumi’s lips still lingering on his knuckles. _Showtime._

—

“Wow, that was pretty gay,” Hanamaki says as Hinata disappears behind a corner, ushered away by an intern.

“Shut up,” is what Iwaizumi tries to grumble in response, but the words get caught in his throat. If the other three are looking at him with varying degrees of smugness, he chooses to ignore it, because he knows what he did and will _not_ regret it on the count of teasing.

Oikawa is the one who suggests they find their seats and stop hanging around where they’re likely to be caught and questioned. Without Hinata there, the empty hallway is bland— bass drums through the walls from the music in the main room, and conversations are muffled through a layer of concrete. They manage to slip back to their seats without raising suspicion, Oikawa smiling and waving to the cameras that focus their way as people mill about.

Iwaizumi closes his eyes. He doesn’t mind attention or photos, but right now, he can’t bring himself to be _on._ Hinata’s face— those wide eyes and pink cheeks, lips parted in surprise— is a constant memory looping in his mind’s eye. It doesn’t help that he has no clue what he’ll be wearing in a few moments time, nor does it soothe the racing heartbeat that bangs against the walls of his chest.

Before the others can tease him for spacing out and his thoughts can run away, the lights in the room dim to nothing, signalling the start of the show. Beside him, Matsukawa and Oikawa stop whatever mini-debate they were having over fashion choices, and Iwaizumi finally lets himself relax. He opens his eyes in time to see a rather fancy production of stage lights illuminate across the runway, flashing from orange, to pink, to blue, oscillating between the different shades as the stage itself becomes brighter and brighter. It’s a good production— really, Iwaizumi appreciates it— but his mind is elsewhere. As the music starts humming through the speakers, the first model walks out, Iwaizumi holding his breath in anticipation.

Hinata is the fourth model out, and Iwaizumi isn't sure what strikes him the most— the skin tight pants, or the golden silk shirt exposing a portion of Hinata's upper chest and collarbones. Under the warm lights, he _shimmers—_ eyes painted amber and cheeks flushed with a shade Iwaizumi recognizes as unnatural— too light, too orange. When he reaches the end of the runway, Iwaizumi gets a few moments of staring at his backside, and lets himself unabashedly sigh when Hinata turns back around and walks out, eyes set forwards, lips quirked.

He _really_ agrees with the strangled noise Oikawa makes as Hinata slips offstage. Iwaizumi doesn’t want to admit that’s his inner monologue, but it’s painstaking true. Hinata turns his insides out and makes his head swarm and every other analogy you could think of— Iwaizumi spent _months_ pining to get here, so he assumes he has the right to be a little flustered.

A ridiculously short amount of time passes before Hinata comes back on, and Iwaizumi hasn't even had the time to stop reeling before he emerges again. Clad in similar styled black pants, he walks on heeled boots that boost his height just enough to be surprising, but that’s not what gives Iwaizumi whiplash. No, what gets to him is the straps that criss cross over the left side of Hinata’s bare chest, leaving half his torso exposed with only slivers of mesh to cover it. It sinches slightly at the waist before flaring, the back hanging long just like the sleeves. It’s a piece of art, but all Iwaizumi can think about is the glint in Hinata’s eyes as he passed, toned muscles fucking _glimmering_ as if to personally mess with Iwaizumi. Silently, he praises body spray and divine intervention for giving him this moment to just _watch._

Hanamaki and Matsukawa are whispering _something,_  but Iwaizumi tunes it out, purely fixated on not choking on his tongue. If this happens every time he visits a runway, Iwaizumi doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to it. By far, this is the most visibly flustered he’s ever been. The palms of his hands have grown sweaty, his eyes glass over for the rest of the show, simply replaying the untouchable image of Hinata Shouyou’s chest exposed through black strips. When the show comes to a close and the entire entourage walks out for a bow, Iwaizumi is one of the first on his feet for the applause. Now that it’s over, the models have relaxed somewhat, and Hinata is smiling as he chats with a tall, dark haired model beside him. As they turn back around to walk out, he spots Iwaizumi and the others, and flashes a blinding smile.

Iwaizumi inhales sharply, ignoring the sighs and woes of the other three. By the time the house lights have lifted completely, Iwaizumi has already woven through the crowd, slipping through the same backstage door he had met Hinata in earlier.

 _I’ve ignored tension once,_ Iwaizumi tells himself as he tries his best to be inconspicuous in a room full of models. _I’m not doing that again._

Surprisingly, no one pays him much mind. There are a few glances and raised brows, but nobody approaches and questions his reasons for being there. Finding Hinata proves just as easy— through the chatter, he hears his unforgettable laughter. It rings through the backstage area and serves as a breadcrumb trail for Iwaizumi to follow all the way into a small lounge area, separated from the main space by a wall. The moment before Iwaizumi rounds the corner, he exhales, ready to release whatever they’ve been holding for the next few days. But of course, nothing could prepare him for what happens instead.

Hinata stands in the centre of the room, his side exposed to Iwaizumi, arms high in the air as two interns help him out of the strappy shirt that had tortured Iwaizumi moments prior. Now, Iwaizumi can only stare, the fact of Hinata being _very_ naked, clothes strewn around him without care, making him hotter than he’d like to admit. That chest that was once covered in black fabric is now in full view, along with his tanned thighs and his stomach and—

He’s halfway through trying not to let his eyes linger any lower than the angle of Hinata’s hips when his boyfriend spots him, face lighting up as if this were a completely normal occurance.

“Hajime!” Hinata calls out as the shirt is placed aside. He turns fully towards him, and _wow,_  they’re closer than Iwaizumi originally thought. Iwaizumi keeps his eyes fixed on Hinata’s cheeks, on his freckles and his ear-to-ear grin without so much of a fleck of embarrassment that Iwaizumi nearly short circuits from that alone. “How’d you like the show?”

Iwaizumi’s brain says: _You were the most beautiful person and simultaneously the reason for my cardiac arrest._

Instead, Iwaizumi chokes on his words quite literally, eyes slipping down a fraction, just enough to stare at Hinata’s chest _again_ and just enough that Hinata realizes he isn’t wearing clothes. A switch flips, and Hinata an impressive shade of scarlet that travels _all_ the way down his chest and across his shoulders, and probably lower if Iwaizumi’s imagination is anything to trust. Hinata is the one sputtering now, eyes flicking hopelessly back to the interns, who just giggle, picking some of the garments off the floor.

“We’ll leave you two to it,” one of them says as they head off. “Have fun!”

Iwaizumi is, understandably, mortified. He does his best not to combust as Hinata squeaks out a, “Yes— wait— thank you?” He’s still very much naked, and now they’re _both_ aware of it, Iwaizumi testing out his self control all while berating himself for such a tight choice in pants.

“I have a robe,” Hinata states, his voice cracking as he spins around without warning, reaching over to grab a shiny blue robe from off the couch. Iwaizumi notes the dimples on his lower back, the freckles that creep down his shoulder blades, the curve where his spine meets his waist meets his ass. He’s thankful when Hinata slips the robe on, blue complimenting him so well, even if his thoughts continue to race and consist of nothing but the other boy’s name.

There’s a few moments where all they do is stare, composure coming back in fragments. Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck, chews on the inside of his cheek. “You— the show— it was good. Really good,” he tells him.

Hinata smiles, so shy, so unlike the confidence he radiated up on that runway. “Ah, thank you, Hajime,” he says, playing with the tie of his robe. “The shirt, y’know, in the second outfit? It was, um, tailored for my size, so I get to keep it.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi blinks. “That’s— that’s really— yes.”

Hinata cocks his head, and the yellow lighting washes over his neck. “Yes?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes drift down to his lips, parted and pink, down his neck and towards the defined line of his collarbone. “Yeah.”

Just like that, the room snaps, and Iwaizumi surges forwards, Hinata meeting him with an open mouth and arms outstretched. Hands tangle in his hair and tug, teeth clashing against teeth as Iwaizumi adjusts to Hinata’s added weight against his chest. Hinata’s been craving this just as much as him. Iwaizumi can tell in the way he kisses, desperate bites at his bottom lip as Iwaizumi’s hands track up and down his back, settling at his waist. He tries to be slow, but Hinata whines against his mouth and presses his tongue past Iwaizumi’s lips as soon as they part, and all of that control is thrown out the window.

Iwaizumi drags out Hinata’s bottom lip with his teeth, grips his waist tighter and backs him up so that his knees touch the back of the couch. Hinata reacts faster than Iwaizumi could’ve expected, arms slinging further over his shoulders as he pulls him closer and closer. Breaking the kiss, Iwaizumi moves to mouth hot and heavy on Hinata’s jaw, using one hand to prop himself up and the other to lie Hinata down softly on the couch. There’s no time to take in the beauty of Hinata’s eyes and how they flutter open and close, because as soon as they’re down, he’s pulled back into Hinata’s orbit.

Hinata pushes Iwaizumi’s jacket off his shoulder as they kiss, their movements becoming gradually less and less calculated as they give in to the sensation. Determined not to pull away, Iwaizumi writhes his way out of the jacket, flinging it onto the ground. Hinata’s eyes snap open to take in the sight— the jacket was really the selling point of his outfit, but being left in a tight black tank seems good enough for Hinata. His hands slide up his arms and cling onto his biceps, blunt nails creating little crescent indents in their wake. And as Iwaizumi’s head swarms, Hinata smiles ever so slight, the slightest flicker of teasing in his eyes.

That’s enough of a go ahead for Iwaizumi to duck back down, arms caging Hinata from either side of his face. A noise rises from Hinata’s throat, soft and strained as Iwaizumi licks into his mouth, Hinata’s teeth brushing against his tongue. One hand stays put on his bicep, digging in as if to hold on for life, and Hinata raises the other to slide down and under Iwaizumi’s tank. His fingers rub over the ridges of Iwaizumi’s abs, the other hand still feeling up his bicep as if his sole quest was to _memorize_ every muscle on Iwaizumi’s body. The hand on his chest moves, reaches out and over under its roaming up and down his back, nails leaving a phantom scratch through the material of his shirt.

Iwaizumi teases Hinata’s bottom lip again before moving back to his jaw, taking note of the hitch in his breath as he moves further and further along. Iwaizumi doesn’t suck to leave a mark, but kisses where he knows Hinata will squirm, arch his back and bite his tongue. Shifting a hand away from his face, Iwaizumi parts Hinata’s robe and lets it wander up and down his chest. Everyone saw it today, but now, _Iwaizumi_ gets to touch, gets to hear the whimpers that slip from Hinata’s lips as he bites down at the juncture of his neck.

It’s not like Iwaizumi to get caught up, to forget that only a door separates them from the rest of the world and that only a robe separates him from the rest of Hinata’s body. Today seems to break all of his rules, to break all of the usuals and bring Iwaizumi to the edge. Hinata’s hand moves back to knot into Iwaizumi’s hair and Iwaizumi lets himself groan, lifting his lips off of Hinata’s neck. Hinata whines in the few seconds of disconnect, but is quickly quieted by Iwaizumi pressing their mouths together, tongue grazing atop Hinata’s teeth. Iwaizumi shifts his leg, moving it so that it slots between Hinata’s thigh. If the hum Hinata makes in Iwaizumi’s mouth means anything, he must be doing something right.

Iwaizumi’s tank becomes pushed further and further up, until Hinata is tugging on it enough that he gets the hint. There’s no way not to break apart for this, so Iwaizumi does his best to make it worthwhile— wipes the spit off his mouth with the back of his hand, takes his time peeling it off before flinging it somewhere else in the room. The instant its off, Hinata’s hands reach forwards, move up and down his now exposed chest without shame.

“S’not fair,” Hinata mumbles. “You walk around shirtless after showers ‘nd I always just had to _die_ in silence.”

Iwaizumi laughs, low and rumbling in his chest, smiling as Hinata’s nails rake down his pecs. “Yeah, but you can’t talk after today.”

Hinata bats his eyelashes, and shrugs the best he can with one of Iwaizumi’s arms by his head and his leg between his thighs, cheeks flushing at the roughness in his voice. “I-I’ll make it up to you then. We can break even.”

Iwaizumi feels heat creep up his neck, wonders if Hinata can tell how much he made him flush. Maybe his eyes give it away, because Hinata’s smile grows, and those wandering hands on his chest reach his shoulder and pull him closer, Iwaizumi leaning back down to kiss him again.

They don’t rush as much now, but nothing about the heat dulls. Hinata writhes beneath him, chest heaving as Iwaizumi steals every breath. It’s wet and still messy— their teeth bump without much warning and it’s controlled almost completely by fleeting desires. Iwaizumi pushes Hinata’s robe off his shoulders so that it rests around his elbows, leaving his chest open entirely. Hinata doesn’t even notice, does his best to grind down against Iwaizumi’s leg as Iwaizumi sucks on his tongue and hums into his mouth. Hinata hitches a leg up, slings it over Iwaizumi and smiles into their kiss. The smiles evaporates as a moan pulls out from his throat, Iwaizumi’s thumb rubbing circles into the soft skin above Hinata’s hip.

“Shouyou,” Iwaizumi murmurs. “Do you—”

He’s interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, nearly as peppy as the voice that follows.

“Shou-chan! Two interns said you should be here, are you ready to go?” Oikawa asks. Iwaizumi doesn’t need to see his face to know it’s sporting a wide, knowing grin, knows that he doesn’t even need to _mention_ Iwaizumi’s name for him to figure out he’s there.

“One se-ec!” Hinata shouts, voice jumping as Iwaizumi kisses his jaw one last time before untangling their bodies. Now that they’re apart and thinking somewhat clearly, they take time to inspect the other. It’ll be clear what happened— Iwaizumi’s hair sticks out every which way and they’re both covered in sweat. Hinata’s still flushed as much as ever, adjusts his robe to cover himself again as he crawls over to the otherside of the couch to grab his day clothes. Iwaizumi thinks of cold showers and that one scary horror movie and the ogre from that one fantasy movie, tears away his eyes and tries to find his shirt amidst all of the clothes lying around.

Outside the door, Matsukawa wolf whistles. “Babe, you’re keeping that shirt, right?”

“Mhm!” Hinata responds, slipping on his shorts. He turns to Iwaizumi and raises his boyfriend’s jacket up. “Can I wear this?”

“Y-yes,” Iwaizumi chokes. His tank top is half on, and his arm is stuck in the head-hole. They could not be less put together.

Hinata slips on the jacket over his soft white tee, breathing in the scent. They both do a once over of each other, Hinata with his bag full of stuff, Iwaizumi with less clothes on than before, and a smile. Quickly, Hinata raises up onto his tiptoes and presses a kiss to Iwaizumi’s cheek, so chaste for someone whose tongue was down his throat five minutes earlier.

Outside the door, Hanamaki starts humming the jeopardy theme. With a groan, Iwaizumi rubs his face, watching as Hinata just laughs, happy and bright, and throws open the door.

“Finally!” Oikawa exclaims, waltzing in. His brows raise at the sight of Iwaizumi as if he didn’t already assume he was there. “Oh, hello there, Iwa-chan.”

Matsukawa throws an arm over Hinata’s shoulder, kissing the top of his head. “You killed it out there, babe. Hope you two had fun.”

Iwaizumi watches Hinata’s face get progressively redder, feels his own heat up enough to fry an egg. “We did,” Iwaizumi tells them, blunt, to the point. Hinata coughs, hiding a smile in his embarrassment as Hanamaki laughs.

“God, Iwaizumi, you’re a charmer,” he says, shaking his head. “Shouyou, Kuroo was looking for you, but I told him you left already. He didn’t seem upset or anything.”

“G-great!” Hinata squeaks. “I’m hungry, can we get food? Post show high is wearing off and I haven’t eaten in, like, seven hours.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Oikawa shouts, tugging Hinata forwards. “C’mon, we are getting 24/7 breakfast— my treat!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but doesn’t miss the way Hinata’s eyes light up at the idea of breakfast foods at whatever hour at night it is now. Together, the five make their way outside and to the car without any interference, as if the world was just them, hearts running on adrenaline and smiles. Hinata falls asleep in the car, but they get takeout for him anyways, and Iwaizumi tucks him into bed that night pinching himself to make sure it was all real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH THATS GAY FOLKS....
> 
> wanna talk aus or just about ships in general or about iwaizumi hajime and how his character is underrated and often miswritten? hit us up at spacegaykj.tumblr.com or mooksmookin.tumblr.com!! mooks posts twitter updates @mookzymooks as well!!!!!!! 
> 
> until next time...... so long , gay cowboy


	3. XO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI WE ARE BACK!!!  
> its kj here and man im sorry abt uhhhhHHHHHH not updating since novemeber but like. Life Exists !!! luckily me nd mooks got inspo for this and tbh this was written in like,,,, 2 weeks,,, and god... HAVE WE GOT SOME SCENES FOR YOU,,,,,,,,, this was gonna be one chapter but it was WAY TOO LONG the title of this chapter is taken from beyonce's song XO. the other choice was partition, but i figured that was a little on the nose. we hope you enjoy!!  
> -  
> HEY SUP ITS YA MOOK THIS CHAPTER IS SUPER FUCKIN GAY ENJOY sorry it took so long but i hope the length makes up for it!!! we had to split the chapter up so to the people who voted in the poll the smut is coming next chapter i promise! thank you all so much for your support, i hope you enjoy!

“Are you sure you have everything?” Hinata asks, leaning back and forth on the handle of his suitcase. “You promise not to stay up more than nineteen hours?”

Kenma only sighs, pocketing his game to look at Hinata more directly. “You’d think I was the one leaving, not you.”

They’re standing in front of the VIP check in gate at six in the morning, Hinata’s bag already sent to the hotel. He’s only got his carry on with him now, the only thing left to meet up with his boyfriends. Between the bodyguards, paparazzi and fans he’s already noticed milling around, he figures he’s in for a handful once they do show up. And yet his stomach flutters at the prospect of watching them arrive, at the idea of their eyes being on him once again. Even with the cameras that flicker, even with the few people who’ve recognized him despite his mask, Hinata’s excitement doesn't waver.

“Geh?! I’m just worried, is all! Sometimes you hole up and don’t talk to people!” Hinata fusses. Deep down, he knows Kenma will be fine, but his nerves have always gotten the best of him at times like this.

Kenma pushes his hair back with a shrug. “I have stuff to do. Editing and such. I won’t be comatose,” he tells him. “Kuroo will probably bug me while you’re gone, too. He offered a bedroom in his apartment for me.”

Hinata raises his eyebrows, half surprised, half teasing. “And you said no?” he asks. “His house is so big!”

“I didn’t say anything.” With that, Kenma steps forwards, dropping his hands from his pockets to lay lax at his sides. He isn’t one for initiating contact— after so many years of friendship, Hinata understands that. The small movement is the go ahead Hinata needs to pull Kenma into a hug, his arms flinging around his shoulders to hold him tight. Kenma eventually relaxes, patting Hinata’s arm before they both step away.

The second they do, the screaming starts. Kenma shrinks inside of his shoulders at the same time Hinata whips his head around, looking towards the main entrance with a smile already beginning to spread across his face.

“That’s my cue, I guess,” Kenma mumbles, looking over to Hinata once more. “Safe travels.”

“See you, Kenma! I’ll text you when we land!” Hinata shouts over the noise around him. Kenma disappears into the crowd within moments, and Hinata eyes tear away from his retreating form to watch as security guards clear a path, roping them off so that a clear way is made. Hinata straightens his back, rolling only the balls of his feet. Pulling his mask off, he throws patience out the window, taking a few steps closer towards the line up just as the doors open.

The first ones to walk through, understandably, are Kyoutani and Watari, flanking them on either side and hurrying them along. The camera shutters blind Hinata enough that even his studio light accustom eyes blink away the flash in attempt to focus. _Finally,_ after a few moments of shouts and people leaning into his line of sight, does he see them.

Oikawa’s waving, as always, sending peace signs and smiling for the cameras. He looks decently dressed— Hinata doesn’t doubt Yahaba made the outfit for this occasion— pairing a navy striped sweater with a muted pink jacket and ripped jeans. He flips his sunglasses up onto his head as he approaches, face lighting up at the sight of Hinata. His pace notably picks up, but he stays behind the bodyguards. Behind him is Iwaizumi, in an outfit complete with a white sweater displaying some kind of catchphrase and a flannel, Hanamaki, whose floral pants are loudest piece he wears, and _Matsukawa._  Matsukawa sports the blue embroidered jacket he and Hinata have assumed shared custody on, hair ruffled considerably and eyes hidden behind circle frames. If Hinata wouldn’t be judged on it, he’d scream alongside the fans, his heart rate picking up as the gap is cleared.

There’s no time for talk, however. Once they meet up, they’re all ushered inside of the check in area, doors shut closed behind them the second all five up them have entered. It takes a few moments for Hinata to sigh, dropping his shoulders as the adrenaline from all of the ruckus leaves him. Beside him, Oikawa smiles, hand slipping down to hold his.

“Hey you,” he grins, tongue caught between teeth.

“Took you long enough,” Hinata responds, teasing as he squeezes Oikawa’s hand. “Were you all too concerned with looking good not to get here on time?”

His wide eyed look of adoration turns to indignance as he pouts slightly, fingers lacing with Hinata. “You wound me, Shou-chan.”

Hinata’s heart stutters. His cheeks flush, and eyes drift down to his shoes. Will he always feel this way? He hopes so, hopes that the tummy turning flutter never leaves whenever he smiles his way.

“Save it until you’re all checked in and through security,” Kyoutani grumbles in front of them, adjusting his earpiece.

“What he _means_ to say is that we should get going! No use dawdling here,” Watari translates, chipper as always.

Iwaizumi nods, tugging his bag along. “It’s all good, Watari.” He sends a glance towards the others. “C’mon, I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

With that, they go through the process of checking in for their flights before being shepherded towards security. Oikawa has to let go of his hand to walk through the scanner, and Hinata almost feels silly for missing the warmth in his palm. He doesn’t have much time to lament about it, what with having to walk through himself. The experience, though still sterile and controlled, is much different than the few times Hinata has flown before. There’s no sheep herded line, no rush behind him pressing him on. His nerves are relaxed enough that he even waves the security goodbye once he’s collected his bag and belongings once again.

With the tedious part over, Hinata drops his shoulders, unsure where they’re heading next. Matsukawa matches pace with him, his sunglasses folded and hanging from his shirt, and throws his left around around him, the right already holding onto Hanamaki’s shoulders.

“Loving the VIP experience?” he asks, smirking. “They’ve got some overpriced place we can get food in the lounge, if you’re hungry.”

“The lounge?” Hinata asks, cocking his head.

“Where we wait until we have to board. It’s so we don’t sit at the gate where we could get swamped again,” Hanamaki explains. “It’s a fancy holding pen. They serve champagne.”

Blinking, Hinata shakes his head, smiling to himself at the absurdity of it all. Here he is, behind the scenes in Tokyo Narita airport, headed for the VIP lounge as if it were nothing. There’s still moving walkways and announcements that sound clear through the PA, but it couldn’t feel less like any airport Hinata’s been in. Maybe it’s because his heart squeezes with every inhale of Matsukawa’s cologne. Maybe it’s because Hinata’s just happy to feel this kind of closeness at all.

They order and eat breakfast quickly, all five of them lounging across the couches as they sip their juice and await for further announcement of their flight. Iwaizumi has taken to nodding off slightly, eyes dropping low as he props his chin up with his hand. There’s still another fifteen minutes until they’re boarding, and for some reason that time seems to feel much longer. Beside him, Hanamaki groans, plopping his head on Hinata’s shoulder.

“How much longer d’you think we’re gonna wait here for?” he asks into the fabric of Hinata’s shirt. It’s muffled, but still audible being so close to Hinata’s ear.

Hinata does not blush, thank you very much. “Uh, I bet it’ll be delayed ten minutes!” Hinata guesses, shrugging the shoulder Hanamaki isn’t resting on. He hopes it not to be the case.

Lucky for him, it is.

Still, they don’t seriously complain— they’re getting priority boarding, after all. The moment the plane taxis in and dispels it’s passengers, a nice looking airport staff in a fancy suit guides them down the gate and through the aerobridge onto the plane. It’s not especially large— after all, they’re only flying from Tokyo to Osaka, a hour long flight at the most. The plane isn’t big enough to warrant the lounge chairs of international first class, but they’re awarded the luxury of extra wiggle room of their premium seats. Hinata doesn’t doubt it’ll be more than enough.

They’re sitting in a pair of two and three, the third seat being bought out so they’d have it alone. Hinata immediately slips into the window chair without even bothering to ask, plopping down and buckling himself up to officially claim his spot. Oikawa, right behind him, takes the spot next to him. He lifts the arm up that separates their bodies so that their shoulders press together and smiles, fingers lacing with Hinata’s.

“It’s just a little flight, so don’t be nervous,” Oikawa tells him, sincerity clear through the quiet tones of his voice. Through the PA, the captain begins to speak about safety instructions and what to do in case of a crash. Neither pay them any mind.

“Honestly, I’m too excited to worry,” Hinata whispers. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up, but in a good way— the butterflies way.”

Oikawa’s hand squeezes his, and the plane lurches forwards, beginning it’s race up towards the end of the runway. Hinata tries to keep his eyes focused on the world as it rushes past him, the ever shrinking view of the city, but all he stares at now is the faint reflection of Oikawa in the glass, the fondness in his eyes as his chin goes to rest on Hinata’s head.

Most of the trip is spent like that— shuffling around in their chairs and snuggling close together. The white noise of the plane’s engines leaves their ears stuffed with cotton thicker than the clouds that drift around them, forces Oikawa’s lips closer to Hinata’s ear whenever he speaks. They talk about everything and nothing— the concert tonight, the modelling shoot tomorrow, what each cloud looks like— conversation flowing easy and warm even in the cool, dry air. When they aren’t speaking, Oikawa hums, the gentle tones stirring warmth in Hinata’s chest as they flow through his ears. It’s just enough to make the hair on the back of his neck raise, just enough that Oikawa doesn’t quite notice. Still, Hinata leans closer, turning so that their noses press closer together than before.

Hinata barely hears Oikawa ask, but his lips move enough that Hinata can guess what he’s saying, eyes already drifting shut as he nods. With a gentle hand on his chin, Oikawa leans forwards and kisses him, smiling ever so slightly when their lips touch. It’s gentle, sweet— Oikawa is steady enough to melt away any worry Hinata could’ve had before. His thumb rubs a soft circle on his jaw, right above a bite that’s almost completely healed. When he pulls away, it’s not for long. Oikawa quickly presses another kiss to Hinata’s lips, then to his cheek and chin, the tip of his nose, the centre of his forehead, his hairline. Laughter bubbles from Hinata’s stomach as he stifles a giggle, Oikawa continuing to pepper small kisses on his face.

If this is what the entire tour will be, Hinata can’t wait. Even now, in this temporary space they share, Hinata can’t help but buzz with anticipation as for what’s to come, smiling so hard his cheeks ache, holding in laughter as Oikawa nuzzles his nose into his shoulder. Everything is soft, subdued, elated. Hinata can’t think of anywhere that he’d rather be.

—

They don’t stop by the hotel as much as they throw their things into the room before driving out towards the stadium where Hinata’s boyfriends are performing. Hinata doesn’t have any shoots until tomorrow, leaving his afternoon and evening free to hang around as the boys set up shop. It’s a little surreal— over a year ago he was waiting hours to see the show. Now, he sits in in the front row, barely containing a grin as they test the microphones and pyrotechnics right before his eyes. It’s different now than it was before, especially when he’s the only one in a room built for thousands. They run through dances and numbers quickly, more for volumes and placing than anything else. It’s deja vu when Oikawa winks at him, but now he can wolf whistle back, can allow himself to delight in the simple pleasure of leaning up against the edge of the stage and jamming out to songs he’s heard in a thousand different stages of creation.

When soundcheck is over, Iwaizumi hauls him up onto the stage, eliciting a squeak from Hinata as he’s pulled tight to his chest. He doesn’t have much time to relish in the moment before he’s tugged away by a grinning Hanamaki, who’s quick to toss an arm over Hinata’s shoulders and pull him close.

“If you liked that show, you’re gonna _love_ the one that’ll happen later,” he tells Hinata, eyes lidded as his hand slips down to brush Hinata’s waist.

Hinata laughs, pushing himself closer into Hanamaki. “I’m super excited,” he tells him, barely containing his glee.

“Oh, so am I,” Hanamaki responds, but now his voice has dropped an octave, and he’s spinning so that they’re face to face now and Hinata is painfully aware of how _tall_ Hanamaki is. Face heating up, he blushes to the tips of his ears, too flustered to register Iwaizumi’s sigh in the background at Hanamaki’s antics.

“C’mon, let’s head to the green room,” Hanamaki tells him, pressing his lips to Hinata’s head. Warmth spreads all the way to Hinata’s toes as he nods, walking alongside Hanamaki backstage.

In the past year, Hinata has spent his fair share of hours backstage at runways and shows, but he’s never been backstage at a concert. The glamour is of a different kind— of music playing and walls lined with other artists who have played the venue before. There’s a fridge stocked with all kinds of drinks, couches pushed up against the wall, and a pool table smack in the centre of the room. Hinata tries— and fails— not to ogle at his surroundings. Even after everything, it’s still hard to believe he’s standing where he is now.

“Shou-chan!” Oikawa calls out from behind him. There’s a split second warning consisting of footsteps before Oikawa’s arms are encasing him from behind, his chin resting on Hinata’s head. “Do you wanna watch from a box or from side stage?”

A soft shiver runs through Hinata involuntarily, but he keeps his composure enough to hum and think through his options. He can’t help but want to see the concert from the comfort of a plush chair above everyone’s heads, to experience it how it was all designed. When he relays the information to Oikawa, he’s granted with a squeeze and a noise of agreement. They stay like that, Hinata in Oikawa’s arms, for a few more moments, Hinata simply relishing in his touch, in the tickle of Oikawa’s hair against his skin and the warm breath fanning out onto his neck. When they finally break apart, Hinata makes sure to tug him down for a kiss before moving away. The reaction he gets it something else entirely. Almost instantly, Oikawa’s cheeks dust pink, a genuine smile curling on his lips as Hinata rolls back onto his heels.

Warmth spreads through Hinata’s chest. Back where it all started— in a stadium with lights and music— and yet so much has changed.

—

The stage set up is incredible. A kaleidoscope of images flick over the screens surrounding the stage, showing images of forests, oceans, rolling hills and mountains. As Hinata clings onto the box seat railing, his eyes entire body shakes with the hum of bass and the shrill tones of screams. He’d be among them, if his voice currently wasn’t stolen by the recorded intro playing through the speakers, reciting a few lines Hinata has seen Matsukawa practice over and over to get right. Then, with all of the dramatic energy of each of the four combined, they rise from a square in the floor, fog billowing out onto the crowd as it becomes stable one more, four faces now illuminated by the projected images on the screens. Hinata can see their expressions on the big screens, the way Oikawa’s eyelashes brush his cheek as the backdrop goes black, and suddenly, the lights are white and stark and blaring, and music starts.

There’s a certain kind of thrill that can only stem from living music, from watching a band playing or being amongst a crowd, from feeling the guitar ring through your ears and the bass creep up your legs. Once, Hinata was desperate to cling onto every bit of this, to savour it, but now he throws himself into the feeling, cups his hands and cheers as Hanamaki does the flip he’s seen practiced a thousand times. He _knows_ these routines now, he _knows_ them know. Hinata appreciates the little things in the opening number, in how Oikawa kneels down at the edge of the stage, lean back his head and just _sing,_ how white light has turned blue has turned green and is moving slowly, fading enough that it doesn’t shock you when the whole place is red.

The first three songs are from the new album, fast paced and loud enough to drown out the cheers. Hinata lives for every dance break, lives for watching how their faces transform. It’s different now— he’s seen them in practice so many times— now they _perform_ like this is what they were born to do. Oikawa ensnares the audience with his voice and Hanamaki with his dance and Matsukawa with his rap and Iwaizumi with his _everything._ Hinata might be a little biased now, but the stutter in his chest is no lie. Everything they do is intoxicating, enrapturing, sucking Hinata in as if he were the only one there.

While the song ends, and the crowd splits into applause, Hinata simply stares in a trance, humming to himself as Matsukawa rolls out a shoulder, grinning towards the crowd.

“Wow, full house, huh?” he comments, only to be responded by another round of cheers. Hanamaki comes up from behind him and throws an arm around his shoulder, eyes still flicking over the every loudening crowd.

“Everyone feeling good tonight?” Hanamaki asks. As he receives screams from the crowd in response, he breaks away from Matsukawa, walking towards the opposite side of the stage. “You know, I always think about what would happen if, like, nobody responded when I did that— like if you all went dead silent and one kid kinda just goes _yeah_ and that’s it.”

“Hiro, you are the most succinct and poetic person I know,” Matsukawa deadpans.

Oikawa sighs dramatically from stage right and shrugs. “I want you all to know I know you’d _never_ do that to me— or to us.”

The crowd laughs in response as Iwaizumi furrows his brow. “What do you mean, _or_ us? You really think it’s your personality keeping them here?”

Someone in the crowd shouts a response that must be positive, because Oikawa bounces up and down and points in the general vicinity of the shout. “See!?”

“All of this is a horrible segue into our next song, and you’d think after _nine_ years we’d know what we’re doing,” Hanamaki tells the crowd. “Anyways here’s Wond—”

 _“No,”_ Iwaizumi cuts in, exasperated. “Here’s a song about summertime.”

“And love,” Oikawa adds. “Here’s  _Midsummer!”_

Hinata rests his chin onto his hand as a steady beat begins to thrum, lazy and slow and dripping through the air. The screen behind the main stage flashes pictures of lemons and sunflowers and all kinds of yellows, the others projecting images of what happens on the stage. There isn’t group choreography for this piece, but it doesn’t make the stage presence any less. Hinata’s heart seizes as Oikawa belts out the chorus, singing about downtown Kyoto and coffee stained counters, and no matter how many times Hinata listens to this song, it always shocks him to remember it was written about _him._

Before the song ends, there’s a musical interlude where Hanamaki takes to centre stage and dances a solo, one single spotlight following him as he strays from the status quo and does something a bit more lyrical, at one point falling to his knees before sweeping one leg out in front of him to kick off and jump right back up smiling and spinning as the lyrics start right back up again. Hinata’s chest flutters as he watches, swaying side to side as the song comes to a close with gentle chimes as cool and gentle as the breeze. All four of his boys end leaning on each other, back to back, lights dimming to night, a momentary hush falling over the crowd.

That peace only lasts half a second, because as soon as the opening notes of the next song play, even Hinata is yelling. The intro to _Dragon Boy_ is accompanied by images of at galleries and broken crowns, a chill settling into Hinata’s bones as the four move in sync, following steps planned out months before, steps he’s seen rehearsed time and time again. Matsukawa raps and the other three of them run hands up his arms before jerking away, falling into fast paced footwork as the lights above flicker in shades of red and orange— fiery, bright. When Oikawa sings, it’s with the rough harmony of Iwaizumi accompanying him, the contrast between smooth and raw making Hinata’s head spin. The heavy bassline oozes through the speakers and sinks into Hinata’s skin as the the song goes on making the hair on the back of his neck stand.

Of course, when Hanamaki does a flip at the apex of the guitar solo, he loses his mind, but that’s a secret he can keep to himself.

The rest of the concert blurs together in songs, both new and old, sung through laughter and shouts of excitement with increasingly wilder reactions from the crowd. At one point, someone throws a bouquet of _roses_ on stage, Oikawa taking one between his teeth for dramatic effect while Matsukawa tucks one into his pocket. Iwaizumi’s reaction is much softer— he smiles and tucks the roses towards the side of the stage where they won’t be stepped on, accident or not. By now, the show is wrapping to a close, one song left yet to be sung and anticipation thrumming in the air as everyone waits for it to be performed.

“The first show on tour is always a big moment,” Oikawa says, adjusting his mic. “It’s… hard to explain how much gradititue we feel, being up here, performing for all of you.” He sports a gentle expression, pushing back his hair as his smile grows. “This last song was a combined effort, but a good deal of it was written by Matsukawa, here.” He motions to Matsukawa, who puts down the water bottle he was drinking and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’s about longing, mostly, but I think meanings change with time,” Matsukawa explains. He’s genuine in that moment, in front of thousands of people, and Hinata’s heart wells up with love as his signature smirk flickers back on. “I can’t take full credit, though, because Iwaizumi spent _ages_ trying to get the guitar down.” Iwaizumi shakes his head, rolling his eyes and Matsukawa bites his tongue with a smile.

“We hope you had fun tonight,” Hanamaki tells the crowd, leaning onto Matsukawa’s side. “Take the long way home, take your time, enjoy the ride, but don’t leave just yet. We have one last song for you.”

“Without further ado,” Oikawa cuts, in, and his eyes are bright and looking up, _searching_ for something in the rafters. “Here’s _Tangerine.”_

Is this some kind of subtle declaration of love? Hinata can’t be sure. All he knows is that his throat is knotting as Iwaizumi sings the first verse, _really_ sings, warm and all encompassing and whole, making him hum and sigh as the song continues on in vibrant colours of orange. It’s upbeat and yet bittersweet, but Hinata can’t keep himself from smiling wide as Oikawa takes over the chorus, because it’s not an understatement to say this song was only meant for his ears. It’s gentle in the way sampled beats are in cars, where the bass seeps through leather and skin, tune infectious enough that you hum it for days to come. Matsukawa raps poetry and speaks in that low, warm voice that always makes Hinata sigh. Every single part of Hinata wants to reach out and brush hands, to caress, to tangle fingers in the curls of their hair. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, and allows himself to get lost in their voices, allows himself to just listen.

The song ends with Oikawa pulling out his earplugs and listening to the crowd sing back the lyrics, music cut and quiet as the outro fades with the off key voices of a choir of thousand. In that moment, there’s a kind of bliss in his eyes Hinata wants to commit to memory, wants to burn onto his eyelids so he can see it again and again. Slowly, the lights dim, and the four of them wave, catching last minute objects tossed onto the stage and laughing as the area goes to black.

Hinata is already taking off, exiting the booth and rushing down the stairs where people have already begun to wander about. If anyone notices him, they don't do anything, and he speeds all of the way to the door marked _STAFF ONLY,_ flashing his pass with a winded smile. By now, _someone’s_ got to be staring, but he can’t care when post concert highs are making him giddy just like last time, only now he can touch and kiss and _savour._

The four of them are cooling off in the green room when he arrives, laughing and drinking water bottles down in seconds. Hinata means to say something, but his eyes catch the bob of Iwaizumi’s adam’s apple for a second too long, enough so that when Oikawa tackles him with a hug, it’s a surprise. He’s swept off his feet with an embarrassing shriek as Oikawa hoists him up and spins him around, Hinata clutching onto his shoulders as Oikawa buries his face into Hinata’s neck. He’s running warm from performing and his skin is sticky with sweat, but Hinata can’t bring himself to care as he lets himself be enveloped by Oikawa’s arms.

When he’s set down, he’s met with a dazed grin on Oikawa’s face seconds before he kisses him. Hinata reaching his arms over his shoulders and raises up onto the tips of his toes, sighing softly as Oikawa presses their lips together. Hinata smiles as Oikawa bites his bottom lip, giggling as the post concert adrenaline runs through the both of them pushes them closer together. Oikawa pulls back to look down at him, hands combing through Hinata’s ginger hair in a moment of shared breathing, Hinata watching his eyes swell with fondness.

“You did so well,” Hinata says, brushing a hand to Oikawa’s cheek. He turns, still caught in his arms, to look at the other three. “You _all_ did amazing!”

Oikawa wraps his arms around Hinata’s stomach and pulls him flush to his chest. “It was because we knew you’d be watching,” he tells him, chin resting on Hinata’s head. Blush heats Hinata’s cheeks, and although Oikawa won’t be able to see, the other three smile with knowing looks.

Matsukawa approaches Hinata, bending down to kiss him, tongue darting out to swipe across Hinata’s bottom lip. Hinata’s presses a hand against his chest as they kiss, Matsukawa pulling apart and leaving Hinata chasing the kiss for half a second before lips meet his forehead. Hinata’s cheeks deepen and Matsukawa straightens to his full height, smile suave and collected until Hanamaki all but jumps onto him. He falls forwards under the weight, colliding with Hinata and Oikawa, who snorts at their elegance as Hanamaki laughs. From the side, Iwaizumi shakes his head, stepping into the mass of arms to ruffle Hinata’s hair. Hinata’s chest swells with happiness as he squeezes his eyes shut, laughing along with the rest of them as his head rests against Oikawa’s chest.

“Oikawa, you’re gonna squeeze the life out of him!” Hanamaki jests, prodding at Oikawa’s cheek. Oikawa squeezes his arms around Hinata’s waist, just to make him giggle again. He doesn’t mind it one bit, but tilts his head up and opens his eyes to press a kiss to Hanamaki’s jaw, the closest thing to his mouth he can reach.

In that moment, nothing can compare to the glee Hinata feels. Not a thousand bright lights or the screams of a crowd, not four tonnes of gold, not all of the world’s fame. All that matter is the people around him, the people he loves, the safety of those he knows will always be behind him, ahead of him, around him. It slows the rapid pace of his pulse and draws a content sigh from his lips, because this is more than he could have ever asked for.

—

Touring, Hinata learns, is hard work. He’s pulled away from his boyfriends for long hours of photo shoots with strangers and meetings with different designers who size him up on every scale possible. It’d be stupid of him to be upset, though, because at the end of the day, whether he’s fresh out of the studio with red eyeshadow still smeared over his lids or barefaced in clothes comfortable because they’re not his, he always gets to see _them_ perform.

Each night the atmosphere is different, the show unique to every location. Hinata takes to watching them from the side stage, next to an enormous soundboard he’s anxious to be within three feet of. It’s worth it to see them up close, though, to watch Iwaizumi’s biceps flex while he stretches out after completing a dance. They’re musicians, but also _performers,_ bringing charm to the stage every time they walk on. It steals Hinata’s breath away and keeps it from getting boring— Hinata knows this life could never get boring.

The travelling is hard, too. Most of the time, they spend all of two days in a city, one to arrive, and one to leave. Hotel rooms become intimate havens where Hinata collapses onto beds always soft but never familiar, home calling him in the arms that wrap around his waist. Every night he falls asleep in warmth. Some nights, he gets little sleep, just talking with the four of them until the clock strikes three am and they realize they’ll kill themselves if they stay up any longer. Some nights, Hinata falls asleep first, wakes up to see all four of them fast asleep, hair messy and lips parted, dead to the world. On those days, Hinata changes into stolen sweaters and goes to the coffee shop in the lobby and buys coffee for them all, humming to himself at how domestic this life has become.

—

“This is a bad idea,” Iwaizumi says.

They’re in the stairwell of a very fancy looking studio, wearing lanyards stamped with _VISITOR_ in bold red lettering. Oikawa sighs, spinning around to face Iwaizumi, narrowly avoiding knocking into a wall. “Shouyou invited us, it’s _fine!_ He wants us to be here, so here we are!”

“I feel like you’re gonna pull something,” Iwaizumi tells him, walking right past.

“Hey!” Oikawa scrambles to keep pace with him again, indignant. “You’re one to talk after that whole fiasco at the _Limitless Co._ runway—”

He’s cut off by an elbow aimed to the side, which Oikawa expertly avoids, only to be smacked upside the head. It isn't with any real malice, but Oikawa still whines, pushing Iwaizumi only to be shoved back. That continues on until they reach their destination, a sign reading _shoot in progress_ taped to the door. Iwaizumi goes to look back at Oikawa only for him to squeeze past, pushing open the door and slipping in. Iwaizumi follows in suit, both of them showing their badges to the slightly stunned intern standing by the door. There’s a lot of camera equipment in the way of the set, so they’re forced to try and slip through the working staff to find the small set of chairs they can watch from.

Neither of them are expecting to see Hinata in the centre of a golden set, lying shirtless on the ground. Iwaizumi nearly chokes on his own spit, and has to reach out and grab Oikawa by the back of the collar so that he doesn’t fall face first on the floor. There’s three interns crowded around him, sprinkling red petals around him as the director explains something to Hinata, who has yet to notice their entrance. He reaches his arms above his head, crossing them at the wrist as interns position petals across his bare chest, muscles in his sides shifting from the stretch. He’s wearing pants with red, flowing fabric that rests low on his hips and brushes down to his ankles.

“He said this was a perfume advert,” Iwaizumi mumbles under his breath, doing his best not to combust as Hinata laughs at something the intern says, chest rising and falling as he keeps his arms in place.

“I— I mean, have you seen perfume ads?” Oikawa replies, face held in his hands. His glasses slip off the bridge off of his nose, and he’s quick to fix them back in place.

The director calls for the interns to move away, and the cameras take their places, snapping pictures as Hinata’s face snaps from cheery and bright to utterly sensual, eyes fluttering, lips parted as he bites them ever so slowly. From this angle, they can see his profile, how his small body somehow looks elongated while its surrounded by the warm glow of studio lighting and the harsh flickers of camera flashes. His skin, golden and shimmering, continues to glow as the heavy lights create haunting shadows at the hollow of his jaw, the space under his arched back. At the director’s cue, he shifts, bending one leg, tilting his head to face Oikawa and Iwaizumi, eyes lighting up in excitement before quickly returning to soft and subdued.

Oikawa grins and waves, blowing a kiss Hinata can’t reciprocate as another cut is called, Hinata rolling onto his stomach as the interns move back to reposition all of the petals. Iwaizumi is forced to look away as his cheeks heat up from the inside.

“I forget that this is normal for him,” Iwaizumi says, leaning back into his chair. “He’s in his element, isn’t he?”

Oikawa’s noise of acknowledgement is high pitched and strangled, his eyes still fixated on Hinata as the cameras continue to go off, blinking and resting his head in his hands as he stares down the camera. There isn’t a chance for him to speak to them, so Iwaizumi and Oikawa are left watching, wide eyed and entranced as Hinata sits up, rolling out his shoulders before hugging his legs to his chest and resting his cheek on his knees. The muscles in his back shift, and Oikawa sighs loud enough that one of the interns looks his way before giggling. Oikawa can’t bring himself to care.

Luckily, the director calls for a break right about then, everyone on and off set heaving a sigh of relief, including Iwaizumi and Oikawa. The two stand as Hinata makes his way over, barefoot and grinning wide, red petals still stuck to his bare skin and hair.

“Thank you guys for coming,” Hinata says, smile stretching from ear to ear. His lips are stained a deep red and glossy, matching the blush— false or otherwise— dusting his cheeks. His eyes seem wider, somehow. Oikawa thinks it might be the heavy, brown false lashes, but it could also just be the glow radiating from within his smile. He can’t be sure.

“Of course we’d come,” Iwaizumi responds, voice catching slightly. Oikawa would usually tease at that, but he’s rendered speechless by Hinata’s appearance— ethereal, stunning— so he isn’t one to talk. Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck and looks away as Hinata hums, rocking back and forth on bare feet.

“Well, I’m really glad either way!” he exclaims, turning to face Oikawa. “I haven’t done a perfume advert before, y’know? It’s weird— there isn’t even a bottle to pose with because it’ll just be photoshopped in, right? So it’s like I’m selling my image more than anything.”

Oikawa clears his throat, smiling as he brushes a stray strand of Hinata’s hair from his face. “Y-you look lovely, Shou-chan.”

Hinata looks him up and down, taking in what Oikawa doesn’t doubt are cheeks flushed a deep shade of red and eyes that give away what he’s really thinking. He turns his head to look over at Iwaizumi, who’s doing his best to hide his similar predicament by clenching his jaw. Hinata cocks his head. A smile forms on Hinata’s lips as he comes to some sort of realization, one unlike either of them has seen before—sly, _coy,_ almost teasing— and Oikawa realizes that he is _fucked._

“Here,” he says, reaching out to grab Iwaizumi’s hand. He places it onto his shoulder, that smile still plastered on his face. “Feel how soft my skin is. There’s this really nice oily-stuff I’m wearing so my skin glows on camera. Doesn’t it feel nice?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen as he slides his hand over Hinata’s shoulder, Hinata’s head still tilted, still waiting for a response. Oikawa places a hand on Hinata’s opposite shoulder, feeling for himself the silky smooth skin. It wasn’t what he was expecting, but either way, it makes his head spin just slightly. Hinata smells like roses by virtue of rolling around in petals not even a minute earlier and _god,_ Oikawa thinks he might know exactly what he’s doing.

“Oh, Hinata!” the director shouts. Hinata turns around, both Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s hands falling away. “We’ve gotta go through the photos taken before headshots, maybe get new petals. You have a thirty minute break, feel free to use the lounge.”

“‘Kay!” Hinata calls back, reaching behind him to grab the wrists of his boyfriends, tugging them away. “It’s so hot in there, don’t you think? I’m glad they asked me not to wear a shirt.”

Iwaizumi looks at his back as he’s pulled into the small lounge area adjacent to the studio. He is also glad Hinata isn’t wearing a shirt, even if it mean his thoughts have to go through four layers of filtering before being spoken. The way Hinata looks back with a twinkle of mischief in his eye has Iwaizumi thinking whatever happens will end up being worth every alarm in his head politely screaming that this could be a bad idea.

He never gets the chance to deliberate, because the moment Hinata settles on the table in the centre of the room, Oikawa’s already swept down for a kiss. Hinata, however, ducks out of the way, much to Oikawa’s surprise. He pulls off Oikawa’s glasses before leaning down, lips meeting Oikawa’s neck and tracking sticky, red lipstick marks to the collar as he kisses down the column of Oikawa’s throat. Oikawa lets out a sigh as he traces Hinata’s naked chest with one hand, the other planted firmly on his hip, the sheer red fabric of his pants soft against his fingertips. It doesn’t take long for Iwaizumi’s resolve to break as he approaches from the other side, kissing Hinata’s exposed shoulder gently, as not to leave any marks.

At the newfound feeling on his shoulder, Hinata pulls away from Oikawa’s neck, targeting Iwaizumi with a lick to his dark lips and a grin. Iwaizumi reaches to cup Hinata’s jaw and kiss him proper, but it seems Hinata has the same idea: to leave as many lipstick trails on either of them as he can. As Hinata’s mouth moves slick and warm down Iwaizumi’s jaw, Oikawa returns the favour, starting at Hinata’s ear, trailing teeth down his neck. One of Hinata’s legs ends up between Iwaizumi’s thighs— intentional or not— while the other locks around Oikawa’s waist, drawing him in closer. With Oikawa at his neck, Hinata finishes his work on Iwaizumi, tilting up his chin so they they can kiss, swollen lips meeting a mouth already wet. There’s not much gloss left on Hinata’s mouth now, but the aftertaste tastes faintly of cherry, not enough to overpower the aroma of roses and whatever scent of oil they lathered him in prior to their meeting, but enough that Iwaizumi can register it. Hinata sighs against his mouth, Oikawa finding a spot along his jaw to bite down on that makes Hinata falter, makes him melt into the hold of both his boyfriends.

Hinata nips Iwaizumi’s lip, draws his tongue along where he bit. The drag of his once glossy, still moist lips leaves a tingling after sensation, makes every kiss slightly louder than usual, makes Iwaizumi toss aside his common sense and place a hand on Hinata’s waist. He presses his tongue against Hinata’s and pushes past his teeth to lick into his mouth. The noises Hinata makes are muffled by Iwaizumi’s mouth, but Iwaizumi can _feel_ them all the same, moving through him in soft waves as his hand slides up Hinata’s bare chest to feel the definition of his abs.

Oikawa is nothing if not a tease to Hinata’s neck. He trails his mouth in barely there kisses along Hinata’s jaw, ignoring the space where he was just sucking a mark in favour of making Hinata sigh and knot one hand in his hair out of sheer anticipation. Oikawa smiles— Hinata’s breathing has gotten heavier, breathier, has started to come out hitched more often than not. His skin is warm now, heated with his blush. Oikawa bites back down on the left side of Hinata’s neck and feels him tense before turning to putty in Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s hands. Oikawa continues sucking at the skin, eyelashes and nose brushing close to Hinata’s jaw as he works.          

Finally, Oikawa pulls away. As much as he’d love to keep going, Hinata _does_ have a job to do that relies on his looks. Hinata parts from Iwaizumi to see his expression, eyes still lidded, lips still parted and sultry as he looks towards the both of them. Oikawa can feel the heaviness of his gaze resting on him, wishes he could feel that sensation all of the time. Iwaizumi reaches over from his other side and thumbs the marks Oikawa left that are beginning to bruise on Hinata’s jaw, gentle, careful. Hinata hums, leaning into the touch as his eyes flutter shut.

“I should probably go to hair and makeup so I can be fixed up before headshots,” Hinata mumbles, making no effort to move.

“You’re already perfect,” Oikawa tells him. That’s enough to make Hinata reach out and pull Oikawa closer, so that, once again, he rests in the crook of Hinata’s neck.

There’s something about the softness in this moment, of a room in a temporary space housing feelings that fit in neither ribcages nor chests, feelings that swell too big to keep from acting on, feelings that are sweet like syrup over wood stoves. Iwaizumi has the smell of roses and Hinata clinging onto his collar alongside cherry red lipstick that’s probably made its mark on his shirt. It’s a little reminder of their affections, matching the pink kisses splattered all over Oikawa’s neck from when Hinata’s lipstick was intact. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes fondly, leaning forwards to bury his face into Hinata’s hair.

 _Soft,_ he notes, bringing up a hand to comb through it. He might want to stay here forever.

That thought is interrupted by the blare of Hinata’s phone, repeating the same five note phrase on loop seven times before he groans and detangles himself to answer it. Oikawa is pouting now, but looks somewhat smug and a little dazed. Iwaizumi can’t know for sure what he looks like, but if he were Oikawa, he’d see brows softened and lips dyed a dark shade of red.

“Oh, it’s a video call from Kuroo,” Hinata notes, accepting it. Iwaizumi immediately stiffens and moves out of frame, trying to find a mirror so he can adjust his clothes to look presentable. Oikawa has less shame and sits down next to Hinata with his head on his shoulder, watching as the call is picked up.

“Hey there, Hinata, you on break?” Kuroo asks. Noticing Oikawa is there, his eyes narrow, before his regular polite exterior resurfaces. “Oikawa, nice to see you.”

Iwaizumi resists the urge to snort as he grabs a tissue to wipe the lipstick from his jaw. It’s too late to get the stain from his lips, but if he’s lucky he’ll be able to avoid questions, or worse, _rumours_ about anything on his neck. His shirt, though, is another problem.

“How’re things with you? Why’re you calling? Is something up?” Hinata asks, shifting to hold the phone with his other hand. In doing so, Oikawa lifts his head just long enough for Kuroo to notice the darkening hickies— one on Hinata’s jaw, one on his neck. Oikawa looks straight into the camera and raises a brow before resting his head back onto Hinata’s shoulder, eyes closing shut. Kuroo sighs.

“I’ll text you about it later, it was unprofessional,” Kuroo tells him, tone exasperated and tired. “Hinata, go get ready for the rest of your shoot.”

With that, he hangs up without so much of a goodbye, leaving Hinata confused and Iwaizumi sighing as he rubs the last of the red off of his neck.

“Stick in the mud,” Oikawa murmurs. He kisses Hinata’s cheek as Hinata wiggles from his grasp and stands, rolling out his shoulders and smiling to Iwaizumi. For some unfathomable reason, Iwaizumi’s heart stops at the same time as his vocal chords, and he’s left blushing and stuttering without being prompted to speak. Hinata skips closer, stands on his tiptoes and pecks his jaw— where he can reach— before walking back to the door.

“L-lets go on a date after this,” Hinata tells them, voice confident despite how it wavers. “Go somewhere nice, yeah?”

With that, he leaves, a skip in his step and not a worry clouding his mind. Oikawa, lipstick marks and knotted hair and all, grabs his glasses and puts them back on. Iwaizumi deliberates telling him how much of a mess he looks, but figures it’s payback for interrupting him and Hinata that he doesn’t. _Besides,_ he figures, _Oikawa wouldn’t really care either way._

—

“So, where are we headed?” Hinata asks.

They’ve made it out of the studio, and Hinata is, thankfully, wearing more clothes and less makeup. The stain on his lips has yet to fade, just like the kisses on Oikawa’s neck, who simply reacted to finding out they were there by wiping away the gloss and reminding Iwaizumi that the collar of his sweater is also stained. Altogether, they’re a mess. And yet, Hinata still looks at them with eyes so wide and so filled with adoration that it makes Oikawa’s chest tighten. It’s nearing sundown by the time they exit, light burning directly into their eyes as they walk through the crowded streets per Iwaizumi’s direction. He’s the only one with any sense of direction and serves as the navigator to steer Oikawa and Hinata along as they walk.

“It’s a secret,” Oikawa says to Hinata, pressing a finger to his lips. Hinata huffs, out of impatience more than annoyance. He’s leaning onto Oikawa as they walk, fingers holding loosely onto Iwaizumi’s sleeve in front of him. He’s still unsure about PDA when it comes to Iwaizumi, but he makes no move to pull away when Hinata’s fingers brush his wrist, so he assumes all is fine.

It’s another five minutes of walking before they make it to a stairwell with a small awning displaying the name _Le Pamplemousse_ in cursive font, a neon sign along the side of the building. Hinata’s eyes widen a fraction, Iwaizumi holding the door for him so that he can walk up first. It’s three flights of stairs to get to their destination: an urban looking room consisting of not much more than a register and a hostess stand. The waiting bench is slanted and fashioned from polished wood, leaning up against one of the four glass walls. Through them, Hinata can see the setting sun in all of its reds and pinks, can see the city’s nightlife stretching its arms as it begins to wake.

Iwaizumi’s hand finds the small of Hinata’s back as Oikawa relays his name to the hostess, who fetches three menus with and leads them out of the room and onto the rooftop dining area. It’s windy here— the breeze catches the leaves of all the turning trees and sends them raining down, twirling off of the edge of the building. The circular tables are raised high, enough so that even Oikawa’s feet dangle like a child’s, enough to make Hinata giggle as they take their spots and admire the view.

They aren’t quite in the way of the setting sun, leaving no reason to squint. Hinata’s cranes his neck in the most polite way possible to ogle at the plants on each table, the orchids and the lilies potted and placed as centerpieces. He gingerly holds a petal between his fingertips, looking up with an expression of wonder.

“This is so— so— _amazing!"_  Hinata exclaims. “How’d you guys ever find this place?”

“I texted Shimizu. She usually knows a few places in each city we visit,” Oikawa tells him. “It’s fusion, apparently. Experimental and _very_ chic.”

Oikawa watches as Hinata nods excitedly. It’s hard to tell, what with the rose gold dustings of sunset glowing on his cheeks, if Hinata is blushing or not, but Oikawa would like to think he’s flattered in some way. Hinata reads his menu intensely, mouthing the words as he goes along, and Oikawa is so engrossed in watching him he almost forgets to see what he can order when the waiter arrives.

They order their mains with the drinks, but make it clear they’re in no rush. The waiter seems to understand— he takes the menus and returns with a basket of bread and oil for them to eat as they wait, Hinata already tearing into it. Iwaizumi snorts, fondly, because for all of his poise and grace on camera, Hinata has never been one for appearances. Now, as he dips the roll into oil and chews, he doesn’t even hesitate to smile with cheeks stuffed full. Oikawa giggles beside him as he breaks off bite sized pieces for himself, watching and waiting for Hinata to swallow and speak.

“Mmm, today’s been good,” he muses, setting his bread down on his plate. He stretches his leg out enough to brush Iwaizumi’s calf for half a second before going back to idly kicking his feet. “Thank you for coming to the shoot, again, and thank you for taking me out.” Hinata rests his head onto his palm and smiles, eyes still carrying the lilt from earlier in the day. It ties a knot in Iwaizumi’s throat as he longs for the phantom touch that had just disappeared, makes his heart stop as he admires how the shadows of the day fall on Hinata’s face. He grabs his drink and swirls it lazily in the glass, taking small sips while looking up at Iwaizumi with widened eyes.

“I’m really glad you came,” Oikawa says, leaning back in his chair. He closes his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as his shoulders relax. “Not just here, but on tour with us. Being near you makes me happy.”

“It’s refreshing. You brighten us up, I think, make the hard bits better and the good bits great,” Iwaizumi adds, looking from the dopey smile plastered on Oikawa’s face to Hinata.

Hinata lifts his lips from the glass, mouth parted in slight surprise, eyes flickering from Oikawa to Iwaizumi down to the table. “I— I don’t know what to say besides I’m so lucky to be here,” he tells them. He’s really blushing now, chewing on his bottom lip as the moon exhales twilight across his skin and the skies. Melted purples and blues are almost as soothing as their hands joined together— Hinata reaching over the table for Oikawa’s, under for Iwaizumi.

The waiter returns with their dinners balanced in his forearms, sets each plate in front of them and leaves them to tuck in. Hinata is the first to dig in, humming at the first bite. Oikawa, without a hint of subtlety, flicks his eyes down to his own plate, kicking off one shoe to toe a foot on Hinata’s thigh. Hinata pauses his escapade of shovelling food into his mouth to look abruptly up at Oikawa in shock, only to kick him right back, swallowing with a grin as he takes another drink.

“Here,” Oikawa says, twirling his noodles. “Try some of mine.”

Hinata nods eagerly, not expecting Oikawa to lean across the table, not expecting his hand to brush the underside of his chin and tilt it up as he lifts the food into Hinata’s open mouth. Oikawa sits back down as Hinata chews, taking satisfaction in his surprise as Hinata nods, foot brushing his ankle with much less vigour.

“It’s good,” he tells him, the corners of his mouth quirked into a smile.

“Here,” Iwaizumi says, setting down his utensils. “You have something on your cheek.” He leans over, just as Oikawa had, holding Hinata’s jaw steady as his thumb swipes across the corner of Hinata’s mouth. Iwaizumi can feel heat growing under Hinata’s skin as he pulls away.

“W— what was that?” Hinata stammers, smiling through his embarrassment. He tentatively takes another bite of his food, still looking at Iwaizumi for an explanation.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “He was the one who made a mess,” he says, jabbing his finger towards Oikawa, who scoffs.

“I did not!” Oikawa exclaims, wrinkling his nose. “I would _never—”_

He’s cut off by Hinata’s bell-toned laughter, ringing through the evening wind. Both he and Iwaizumi freeze, once again transfixed at just the sight of Hinata, enraptured with the way he moves and laughs and leans back in his comically high chair, eyes squeezed tight and grin spreading ear to ear. It steals the breath from Iwaizumi’s lungs and forces Oikawa to fall silent, makes them both listen to the song that is his laughter, his voice, _him._ Hinata, unknowing to it all, continues, rubbing one eye as he leans forwards again, shoulders still shaking as he comes down.

There’s a breath of silence afterwards, where the wind is all that whispers and the lights glows only from Hinata’s eyes. Hinata hums, blinking slowly, staring at them both as he lazily goes back to eating his food, smile not leaving his face. Iwaizumi doesn’t think he can look away. He doesn’t think he’d ever want to try.

The rest of their dinner is finished in comfortable silence, where they speak with their eyes more often than not, where words aren’t necessary because a simple glance seems to work just as well. As they wait for the bill, Hinata stares out onto the city’s skyline, the sky now dark, now illuminated by the glow of rooftop lanterns and neon signs littered across the streets. He drums his fingers on the counter and hums a tune Oikawa and Iwaizumi know— they _wrote_ it after all. It’s a love poem to moments like these, to cherry stained lips and the faded spice on the tongue, to the giddiness that flutters in stomachs full and warm from laughter and good company, to nights like these where the city goes silent. When Hinata isn’t looking, Oikawa takes a picture, just to remember this night, to look back and sigh with careful fondness of an evening where they could relax. Under the table, Hinata squeezes Iwaizumi’s hand. It is rough and it is calloused, but he loves it all the same.

They hail a cab after dinner, rather than trying to wander back by themselves. Matsukawa and Hanamaki were busy during the day with promotions, but sent a message that they’d be going out for part of the night. Hinata smiles down at the text and hopes that they have as much fun as he did.

The hotel room is clean when they arrive, having been tidied up while they were away. Hinata sighs and drops his bag to the ground, moving towards the bed by the window and collapsing on it face first. Iwaizumi chuckles, toeing off his shoes as Hinata huffs. As exciting of a day it was, it must’ve also been exhausting for him. Hanging up his jacket, Iwaizumi pulls off his kiss-stained sweater and puts it with the rest of his things he needs to clean. As he rummages around for sleep pants in his haphazardly packed bag, he hears the bed shift, sees through the corner of his eye Hinata, up and roaming once again. From the washroom, the sounds of water running must mean Oikawa has begun his nightly routine. It’s almost domestic, how they find routine in this foreign space. Iwaizumi changes into his flannel pants, turning around to slip into bed only to be met with the sight of Hinata in the sweater he just discarded.

Iwaizumi’s clothes are not as big as the other’s on Hinata, but the fabric still dwarfs his small, lithe frame. He’s left the sleeves hanging long, the close collar loose enough around Hinata’s neck to show the thin lines of his clavicle, displaying the marks from earlier on the column of his throat. The green fabric is gentle on both the eyes and Iwaizumi’s heart, complimenting Hinata’s bronze skin in the amber lighting of the bedside lamp. Iwaizumi has to swallow a knot in his throat, because there’s not much else he’d rather see besides Hinata, smiling, in his clothes, kneeling on a hotel bed with his head tilted to the side.

“It’s cozy,” Hinata explains, kicking his legs off the bed. He walks over to Iwaizumi, rising onto his tiptoes to meet Iwaizumi with a chaste kiss before padding over to the washroom to get ready for the night. Iwaizumi’s heart stutters on it’s second beat as he watches Hinata walk away, and in a trance, he touches his lips, the kiss still laying phantom against his skin.

It’s not long after that that all three are ready for bed, in sleep clothes and shrouded in the warmth of the hotel duvet. Hinata wedges himself in between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Oikawa makes him the little spoon, and Iwaizumi faces Hinata, close enough that if Hinata really tries to focus beyond blurry, sleep heavy eyes, his vision crosses. There aren’t enough moments like these, where the lights are out and they’re just together, sharing warmth under the moonlight without rush nor care. Hinata is pressed close to each boy, his back to Oikawa’s sturdy chest, Iwaizumi’s in front of his. Under the covers are three heartbeats and six lungs and three boyfriends all fighting sleep a second longer so that they can treasure the delicate weaving that brought this moment together.

Softly, Oikawa buries his face into the crook of Hinata’s neck, leaving small kisses where he can reach. Hinata sighs in content as Oikawa’s grip around his waist grows a little tighter, holding him snug as Iwaizumi presses his forehead to Hinata’s, one arm moving to cradle his cheek, to draw patterns on the skin with warm hands. Green eyes stare into his, calm, peaceful, as swirls turn into flowers turn into waves— the steady tide of heartbeats and breathing and Oikawa’s warm breath on his neck lulling Hinata’s eyes closed. When he seems to be asleep, Oikawa lifts his head, nose burrowing into Hinata’s sweet smelling hair as he whispers.

“Goodnight, Shouyou. I love you.”

Little does he know, Hinata hears. And not knowing if it is a dream or reality, he smiles, and lets sleep take its hold.

—

_drxgoniwx posted:_

**why i totally think hinata shouyou is dating someone in seij-oh**

okay guys, here me out here: any fan of seij-oh has gotten to know hinata, right? especially after that car commercial with oikawa ( **⊂（♡⌂♡）⊃** that still has me swooning). hes like _always_ around them somehow and call me crazy but i CANT be the first one to think hes with someone in the group. the issue is…….. who?

oikawa is my best guess, because, yall, look at his instagram. _attached.jpg_ every other photo has him in it. see the latest? hes taken some super romantic looking shot of him and if you zoom in, theres _two_ hickies on his neck. _zoom.jpg._ this isnt even acknowledging the gayness that was that car commercial. like cmon, the tension was definitely there. not to mention the pictures ciruclating of him practically hanging off of hinata.

iwaizumi is another good guess. he was tagged in that picture of hinata too, but hes a lot harder to find stuff on because he doesnt post as much as oikawa and generally just doesnt share as much. however, their interactions on twitter, and _hinatas_ instagram (which yall should follow for seij-oh content honestly) has lots of cute pictures of them together. hes just hard to nail since hes so PRIVATE ugh yaknow?

matsukawa and hanamaki are dating each other but we all know polygamy exists and we all know that if theres anyone who hangs off of hinata its matsukawa. also there was that one underground rap show iwa and matsukawa did if someone could link and a few lyrics in the iwa vs mattsun battle were Gay but towards someone else? They  mentioned a model at the least and im SURE matsukawa said boys _multiple._ theres also someone who said they saw hanamaki with his arm around hinata and then kiss his cheek. and also saw hianta in his famous flower blouse. and hinata in matsukawas blue jacket. and hinata in oikawas jeans and iwaizumis… you get the point.

tell me what you think!! am i crazy??? do you think they wrote _tangerine about him??????_ i think hinata would be really cute with one of the boys. i trust him tbh

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—

They head to the next city by train. It also happens to be the last city before returning to Tokyo, where the Japan leg of seij-OH!’s tour will end. Hinata doesn’t like thinking about that, so he tries not to. It’s hard, though, when in a bullet train speeding through fall rains, where everyone else is still snoozing or still quiet. When they were just friends, Hinata could hardly handle the distance. Now, they’ll be in other countries— _away_ leaving more longing in Hinata’s chest than before. They’ve talked about this—of course they have— but talking and experiencing are two very different things, and Hinata just wants to be held as he falls asleep for every single night to come.

He’s sitting next to Matsukawa’s right, with his head leaning on the taller boy’s shoulder. Matsukawa doesn’t mind the contact in the slightest, welcoming Hinata’s touch and absorbing his worries as Hinata turns away from the rain splattering against the window. He’s perceptive, turning to Hinata and pulling an earbud out as his arm shifts to hold Hinata close to his side. Hinata closes his eyes and breathes in Matsukawa’s cologne, nose pressed into his shirt. The deep aroma of spice fills Hinata’s nose as Matsukawa’s hand rubs Hinata’s side, a low hum pulling from his throat that sends a shudder through Hinata’s spine.

“You wanna listen to some music?” Matsukawa asks, extending his earbud. “Might take some things off your mind, or at least keep you in this moment.”

 _I don’t ever want this moment to end,_ Hinata thinks as he looks up at Matsukawa through his eyelashes, at the concern in his half lidded eyes as he drops the earbud into Hinata’s palm. Hinata whispers a small _thank you_ instead, not expecting Matsukawa to lean over and kiss his hair in an almost protective manner. Blush creeps up Hinata’s neck as Matsukawa stays put, their bodies leaning onto each other in need for warmth or something more. Whatever it is, Hinata is grateful, is grateful for the reassuring circles being drawn through the fabric of his shirt and the steady _thump_ of Matsukawa’s heartbeat. Slowly, Hinata slips the earbud into his ear, listening as a girl sings throaty and raw over simple drums and a guitar.

 

_[Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DcRi3j8sjtU) _

_Tell me that it's warm enough here for ya_

_Warm enough outside, inside me, me, me, me_

 

Hinata closes his eyes and breaths in Matsukawa again. He smells, more than anything else, like home. As the guitar fades into nothing, Hinata lets the tension ease from his shoulders, lets the worries of the days to come slip from his mind for now at the very least, savouring every last drop of the sensation of Matsukawa’s hands on him and his breath on his skin and the rain against the train window.

—

Call time for makeup and hair is six o’clock sharp. Hinata knows he has a habit of being late, and changes every reminder and timer to read _five-thirty_ in preparation for what may be the biggest shoot yet, enough so that Kuroo came to see the result. _New Pacific_ is one of the fastest growing designers in the country, and Kuroo has been building to this shoot for months on end. The press coverage will be huge for the release of their newest line— a collection of casual suits with psychedelic prints, mixing typical street style with cuts reserved for business chic. Hinata’s seen what the outfits he’ll be modelling look like, and is ecstatic to step out onto runway in them. The dress rehearsal in the morning went perfectly— not a misstep or trip on his part at all. In need of some kind of relaxation, he’s decided to wait at the hotel. In retrospect, it may have been a bad idea, as Hinata is looking at the time every thirty seconds to check when he should go. It’s so much so that Matsukawa has to place a hand on his knee in order to stop it from bouncing.

“Ah- sorry.” Hinata smiles, channeling his energy into his hands instead. “I’m just excited!”

Matsukawa grins, chuckling softly. “It’s okay, I know you are. I am too— it’s why I’m going to drop you off there.”

Hinata sighs, flopping down so that his head rests on Matsukawa’s lap. He looks down at his phone— another few minutes until the driver arrives. “I wish you could drive me there on your motorcycle. Gah— that’d be so cool!”

His heart flips inside his chest as Matsukawa looks down at him, eyes lidded, fingertip tracing his jaw. “Mm, it would be.” He tips Hinata’s jaw up further, Hinata’s lips parting as he blinks in surprise at the motion. “But having a driver is peak luxury, don’t you think?”

His voice drops an octave at that, and there’s no way that he doesn’t notice the sharp inhale Hinata takes after the words slip from his lips. At this angle, Hinata can see the precision cut of Matsukawa’s jaw, the curve of his clavicle and the tendons stretching against the skin of his neck. There’s half a second where Hinata considers throwing away his schedule and yanking Matsukawa down and smashing their faces together, to relieve the tension in the room Matsukawa has placed there.

Of course, his timer takes that time to ring, the cheerful tones of bells mocking the swell inside of Hinata’s stomach. Matsukawa raises a brow as Hinata reaches for his phone and turns it off, the moment seemingly dissipated into thin air, lost to the winds of circumstance. In its place, Hinata’s anticipation for the show ebbs larger, giving him the drive to roll off of Matsukawa and jog towards the hotel room door and shove on his shoes.

“We’re leaving now!” Hinata shouts for the others to hear, reaching for his, or rather Matsukawa’s, blue leather jacket.

Iwaizumi is the only other one there, Oikawa and Hanamaki in an interview for most of the day. He pokes his head out from the bathroom and sends Hinata a small smile and a wave. “Good luck tonight, Shouyou,” he tells him.

Hinata smiles bright right back, pausing his motions to blow Iwaizumi a kiss. “Thanks, love you!”

Iwaizumi’s smile grows two times larger than before, cheeks darkening as he reaches out and catches the kiss with one hand. “I love you too,” he says, voice muffled somewhat. “Now get going before you end up late.”

With that, he and Matsukawa slip out of the hotel room and down the elevator to the parking garage. Waiting there is the driver Kiyoko had hired for the time spent in the city. He seems around Hinata’s age, if not younger— leaning against the long, black mini-limo, his hoodie and jeans are a stark contrast to the poise of the car he drives. Nodding in acknowledgement to them, he climbs into the driverseat. Hinata shrugs to himself, piling into the back alongside Matsukawa, knowing he’s already aware of their destination.

The inside of the limousine is sleek, with a division between the driver and passengers made of thick plexiglass. The seat are plush, curved in an L formation with one extra facing the rest against the divider. Soft aquamarine light fills the cab, making the gloss on the black leather seat seem like water. Hinata runs his hands over the seats, looking back over to the door as Matsukawa ducks his way in, shutting the door behind him as the engine revs. Unsurprisingly, this seems to match his element perfectly, blue lights creating a luminance to his hair, a glow to his skin that makes the dustings of highlight seem otherworldly. Hinata averts his eyes before remembering he’s allowed to stare, that Matsukawa is his boyfriend and would never think ill of wandering eyes. When he looks up, it’s to find Matsukawa already watching him, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. Despite all of the space in the car, they’re pressed close together, thigh to thigh with Matsukawa reaching over his shoulder.

“So, will you tell me what you’ll be wearing?” Matsukawa asks, too quietly for a space with no one else to hear. Hinata plays with a fraying string of his distressed jeans, breathing in the scent of Matsukawa’s cologne as he thinks of a reply. It’s deep and woodsy, warm in the way sandalwood and spice often are.

“W-well, what if I wanna keep it a surprise?” Hinata challenges, teases, trying his best to keep a level head while every single thing about Matsukawa intoxicates his common sense.

Matsukawa only hums in response, and somehow that’s worse for Hinata’s composure, making the steady beat of his heart increase enough for him to hear. Now he’s forced to tear his eyes away, not knowing where to look while Matsukawa’s eyes bore deep into his soul.

“You’re wearing my jacket again,” Matsukawa murmurs, mouth somehow closer than before. A shiver travels down Hinata's spine as he turns, their lips brushing ever so slightly as they face each other. Their chests press closer together, and he gulps, gathering his strength as words bubble out of his throat.

“I... like wearing your clothes.”

It snaps the tension between them, Matsukawa pushing him back until his back falls flat against the seat of the limousine. Hinata lands with a soft _oomph,_  hands reflexively reaching for something to grab. The closest thing is the hem of Matsukawa’s shirt, and even then their bodies are close enough that his hand ends up pressed to his abdomen. Matsukawa’s tongue trails up his jaw and god Hinata really should remind him that he shouldn't be covered in marks.

“You're more coy than you let on, aren’t you?” Matsukawa murmurs, and Hinata struggles to maintain an inch of rational thoughts as two strong hands grip his hips. Matsukawa’s breath fans over his neck, and Hinata almost arches his back in anticipation, in wanting _more_ as he speaks. “But I've got you figured out.”

“A-ah, oh?” Hinata stammers, squirming as Matsukawa’s teeth graze his earlobe. He should say something quick, just a reminder—

“You like the sound of my voice, mm?” Matsukawa hums in his ear, and Hinata honest to god _whimpers._

That noise is the spark to Matsukawa’s fuse, is what drives him to trace those teeth back down Hinata’s neck to the point over his pulse where Hinata _always_ keens. He bites there, teething at the skin before applying pressure, tongue pressing up against the skin as his open mouthed kiss becomes more and more than just that. Hinata isn’t quite sure where he stops holding himself back, where he doesn’t stop himself from moaning without care of circumstance. He supposes no one will ever know— the heavy bass of whatever music the driver is playing up front thrums through his body alongside the heat from every point of contact on his skin.

Matsukawa leans back, eliciting an embarrassingly high pitched whine from Hinata as he pulls away. As his eyes flutter open, he’s greeted with a view that’s almost worth it: Matsukawa, wiping the saliva off of his lips with the back of his hand, shirt stretched enough that it slopes off of one shoulder and exposes the smooth skin of his collarbone and shoulder. Hinata reaches for it, raising both arms to drag him back down, only for them to be caught by the wrist in Matsukawa’s hand. Hinata’s breath hitches again as his arms are pinned behind his head, Matsukawa’s strength showing in the solid grip around him, but it’s light enough that Hinata could pull out of it if he wanted to. Hinata feels heat creep down his neck as he swallows, not even bothering to struggle as Matsukawa cocks his head.

“So, I was right, wasn’t I?” he asks, already knowing the answer. The glint in his eye shows he _knows_ the gravel of his voice is making Hinata writhe, that everything about the situation is intentional on his part, a ploy to confirm suspicions. “I really need you to tell me so I’m sure, _Shouyou.”_

At the use of his full first name in such a tone, Hinata can hardly help the strained noise that huffs from his lungs. Matsukawa is unrelenting, refusing to make another move, leaving them in a standoff with Hinata holding all the power to break it. With his free hand, Matsukawa trails fingertips up his chest, popping the loose buttons of his button down open as they move further and further up his body. He skips Hinata’s neck entirely, and in response to the indignant _hmph_ Hinata makes, Matsukawa only raises a brow. His thumb parts Hinata’s lips and swipes over the bottom, nail touching against Hinata’s teeth for half a second before it disappears, leaving Hinata’s lips quivering, the utter _want_ of Matsukawa’s lips pressing against his filling his mind.

“I— I…” Hinata starts, looking up to Matsukawa’s expression of complete satisfaction, his quirked lips, his lowered lids and eyes looking straight down at him.

“Go on,” he mumbles, shifting so that he’s more laying on top of Hinata than straddling his waist, hand still pinning Hinata’s arms back. “Say it.”

The anticipation has grown near unbearable, the heat brewing in every cell of Hinata’s body enough to push him past the point of pride. “I… your voice… it— it’s really, _really_ hot,” Hinata stammers, words pulled from him and pieced together in a stutter caused by the ever growing smirk on Matsukawa’s face. Once more, Matsukawa hums.

“Good boy,” he says, voice dipping down again. “Now, that wasn’t hard, was it?”

Hinata keens at the praise, whining as he pulls against the hand holding him down. “God— Issei _please_ —”

“Please what?” Matsukawa teases, face growing closer so that their lips hover no more than an inch apart.

“Fuck— Issei kiss me, _now_ —”

Hinata doesn’t have anymore time to speak, lips caught in Matsukawa’s. The kiss is fervent, passionate, Matsukawa holding all of the control and puppeteering Hinata with every move. He releases the hold on Hinata’s arms, and Hinata instantly reaches upwards to grip his hair, fingers tangling in the black curls and pulling him closer. Matsukawa’s tongue pushes past Hinata’s teeth and moves against his own, messy and no hotter than everything else that has happened since they stepped in the back of the limousine. Matsukawa’s hands roam his chest, nails scratching lightly against his skin, just enough to leave shivers in their wake. Hinata moans into Matsukawa’s mouth when they pass over his pectorals, moving over his collarbone before dipping back down to his waist.

Matsukawa breaks the kiss, lips traveling down the side of Hinata’s jaw to kiss where it meets his neck. The sound of his pulse in his ear, the breath sticking to his skin, the hum Matsukawa emits as he sucks down harsh enough to bruise all combine to create a feeling that squeezes Hinata’s eyes shut, hands pushing Matsukawa’s head into the crook of his neck as his teeth graze and bite at different spots at his skin. The sting is dulled by a swipe of Matsukawa’s tongue before he settles at a new spot lower, or higher, or mirrored on the other side.

Hinata won’t deny what this does to him, what the relentless teasing and touches to such a sensitive spot have driven him to. He squirms even when Matsukawa holds him steady, a rock in the storm of sensation overtaking him. As he mouths and kisses just below Hinata’s ear, one of his hands slides upwards, climbing his ribcage to rest over his heart, fingers brushing over Hinata’s nipple ever so slighting, making him whimper as he bites down on another spot on Hinata’s neck.

Eventually, Matsukawa moves to Hinata’s collarbones, the thin layer of skin stretched over top of bones sensitive to even the most gentle of touch. But Matsukawa is far from gentle, and Hinata _craves_ it, craves the arc of his back into Matsukawa’s chest, craves the closeness of their bodies as he repeats his name— _Issei, Issei_ — over and over, a record skipping over the only thing that matters.

Matsukawa moves back up, pressing his lips to Hinata’s once more, kissing him again and again, lips smooth, slick and shiny. Hinata breathes heavy from his nose, shifting his legs so that they can stretch out further. Matsukawa teeth pull at his bottom lip against, and Hinata is pretty useless at kissing by now but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Humming, Matsukawa pulls away with a smack, licking his lips before kissing back down his neck, tracing over his sternum until his face is level with Hinata’s chest. When it is, he looks up at Hinata through his eyelashes, the action enough to make Hinata toss his head back until it presses against the seat, releasing whatever tension is left in him and giving into the plan he knows Matsukawa has.

That plan consists of Matsukawa’s lips on his nipple while his free hand entertains the other, something unexpected enough to pull a strained _oh_ from Hinata’s throat. He arches into Matsukawa’s mouth as Matsukawa bites down, enough that there’s a sharp intake of breath but no pain beyond the million nerve endings screaming in anticipation. Between the rough graze of teeth and the not-so-gentle kisses that follow, Hinata can barely bring himself to take a full breath, every inhale shallow and contributing to the dizziness swarming his head. He’d be perfectly content to spend the rest of the day here, underneath Matsukawa, letting him lead him where he pleases, trusting enough that there’s no need to try and anticipate his every move.

Matsukawa draws back, licking back the small thread of saliva that connects him to Hinata at the same time a sharp knock echoes against the plexiglass window.

“Ay, we’re almost there! Just pulling into the drop off area, let me know when ya things are together!” the drivers shouts over his music.

Hinata doesn’t even look away from Matsukawa, breaths beginning to even out as Matsukawa hums, eyes fluttering shut once more. His cheek presses down to Hinata’s chest, thumb rubbing a reassuring circle in Hinata’s palm. Hinata isn’t quite sure when they began to hold hands, but doesn’t fight it, collecting his wits as he watches Matsukawa rest, a comforting weight atop him.

“W-what’re you doing?” Hinata asks through hoarse vocal chords.

Matsukawa opens his eyes, glowing in the blue light. “Listening to your heartbeat.” His voice reverberates through Hinata’s chest, warming him to the core. “It’s fast— mine is too. You do that to me.”

Hinata feels himself flush again at the sudden romantics, his pulse picking up enough that Matsukawa’s smile grows. “How do I look?” he asks, knowing damn well that the only thing to describe his appearance is comprised.

“Beautiful,” Matsukawa whispers. He lifts his face from Hinata’s chest, kissing him once more, soft, long. Hinata doesn’t even notice how he begins to button his shirt back up until only two are left undone. With that they sit up, Hinata running his hands through his hair in attempt to fluff the parts that had gone flat and fix the parts that had become tangled. He supposes there’s a few marks to be dealt with, but this wouldn’t be the first time.

 _It’s what makeup is for, afterall,_ he tells himself as Matsukawa opens the door for him, a hand wrapping around his waist as they step out into the street. Matsukawa guides him towards the front door, expertly dodging people with cameras or overeager faces, following Hinata’s whispered instructions to the prep area. They’ve arrived with fifteen minutes to spare, which Hinata guesses is a good thing after all, especially when Yahaba is staring him down from the seat bearing his name with a look of utter exasperation on his face.

“God, _why_ am I surprised,” Yahaba murmurs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I pray, and I follow the law, and I do a _damn_ good job, and this is what I get?”

Hinata’s face heats up, and he instinctively presses his face into Matsukawa’s arm as his boyfriend speaks. “You’ve done this before, don’t sweat it,” he tells Yahaba as his hand squeezes Hinata’s hip.

Yahaba sighs, blinking harshly as he drops his hands. “Okay, okay. Hinata, sit down. Matsukawa, leave him alone so I can do my job.”

Matsukawa hums in response, turning Hinata in his arms so that he can kiss him before he goes. Hinata lets himself melt one last time, rising high onto his tiptoes to bridge the gap between them. Matsukawa pulls away, kisses his forehead one last time, and smiles.

“Break a leg, Shou,” he tells him, squeezing his hands. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Hinata responds, before letting him and the moment slip away as he returns to the world around him. Looking back over to Yahaba, he’s greeted with a deadpan stare and a chair spun around, waiting for him to sit down. With an apologetic smile, Hinata sits down, not ready for Yahaba to spin him back around to see his reflection.

Bruises half formed, already beginning to go from red to blue litter his jaw line, the deeper ones already purple. There are two within one centimetre of each other, one by each ear, the darkest lining either side of his throat. Three lie along his jaw, four in the crook of his neck and collarbone. Hinata knew that he’d be a mess, but he could never have predicted how absolutely _wrecked_ he’d end up.

“Do you have any on your chest?” Yahaba asks, busing his hands with various tube of makeup.

Hinata pulls out the collar of his shirt, peering down at his chest. Even without full light, he can tell that there are bruises flecked over his skin. “Uh,” he starts, looking back up. “A few?”

Yahaba turns around, looking him up and down while rolling his eyes. “Okay, then off with your shirt.”

Hinata’s entire face flushes. He’s no stranger to the nudity of this career, but having fresh hickies displayed where every other model can see is something he wasn’t expecting when he woke up that morning. Biting down the last of his pride, he undoes the rest of his buttons needed to show Yahaba the rest of his chest, jumping when he, not even a second later, presses a cold makeup sponge to it.

“I’d ice them, but we don’t have time,” he grumbles, applying the primer. Hinata opts to stay silent as he switches between sponges, spreading yellow and green tinted creams over the different bruises. It’d be funny if Hinata was sure no one was staring at the mark clear as day on the side of his neck Yahaba hasn’t gotten to.

After a solid fifteen minutes of correcting and concealing, Yahaba begins to do his actual makeup. By now the swelling in his lips has gone down, but he still needs a few good layers of moisturizer on them before Yahaba applies the blood orange gloss to them. Hinata almost forgets the embarrassment he just suffered through as he starts to get into the zone, the thumping techno music backstage only fueling his excitement. Once Yahaba is done with his makeup, he moves onto hair, working through the tangles, but encouraging its tendency to go every which way for a change. He goes as far to use hairspray and gel to keep it up, a little edgier than he’d normally wear it.

The move to styling the first of the two outfits is exciting if not nerve wracking enough to make him break a sweat. The first coat is sewn from wool, woven in a sunset of colours fading from dark blue all the way to yellow, passing through oranges and pinks before it reaches the hem, which brushes his ankles. They’ve put him in stiletto boots, more platform than heel, which reach up his thighs, made of a suede beige material that feels soft against Hinata’s hands. His pants are strappy and skin tight, tucking into those boots, high waisted to cover the majority of his turtleneck tank top, also black.

By then, the stage managers have begun to get people into position, lining them up in order of walkout as stylists set up the quick change areas behind the curtain. Yahaba gives Hinata a nod of acceptance from his corner as the music begins to fade, the murmurings of the crowd going silent. The lights of the backstage dressing rooms fade accordingly as a speaker introduces the collection, but Hinata never pays attention. Here is when the anticipation is the highest, when his back is straightening and the people are clapping, music kicking back up in full swing. And as the line starts to move forwards at a steady pace, Hinata drops his smile, and gets to work.

The hall is much to small, roof low and cameras flashing bright, to spot anybody from the corner of his eyes. On his first pass through, Hinata walks for nobody but the cameras, aware that in that moment, the crowd is looking at _him,_ that _he’s_ the centre of everyone’s focus. It’s enough to power him through his second walk, and his favourite outfit— a cropped sweater that ends at the top of his ribs and low rising pants, loose but meeting tight at his ankles. _That_ part of his mind grins in giddy realization that his boyfriends are probably red to the toes and squirming in their seats at the very sight of it. There’s a reason he wanted to keep the outfits a secret, after all.

When it’s all over, bows done and waves given, Hinata crashes back down at Yahaba’s makeup stand, content to just get the fifteen pounds of makeup off him than anything else. Interns come by to collect the clothes— lucky for him, he gets the sweater, boots, and coat out of it— and he slips into his pants, leaving his shirt off to deal with the makeup still there. The people backstage quickly take their leave, most models leaving to mingle or simply go home or party, but Hinata takes his time, knowing his boyfriends will end up coming to him either way. Of course, he’s stunned into silence by Matsukawa’s work on him once the makeup is off. By now all of the bruises have deepend to purple, splotchy and taking up a good half of his neck. The ones on his chest aren’t as deep but don’t leave anything to the imagination. Even the ones on his jaw and by his ears have darkened to brown.

Hinata _likes_ it. He can’t stop himself from grinning like an idiot into the mirror as he pokes and prods at the discoloured skin, knowing very well that they’ll stick with him for the next week, serving as reminders of his stolen breath in the backseat of that limousine, of Matsukawa’s lidded eyes and wandering hands. He’s so consumed with his daydreaming that he almost doesn’t catch Oikawa’s shout of his name, turning his head a half second delayed to see the four of his boyfriends’ walking over.

Oikawa, however, stops dead in his tracks upon seeing him, and gulps. “Shou-chan!” he says, voice rising up an octave. “Oh my god, _somebody_ did a number on you!”

His reaction is more in shock than anything, Hanamaki already in a fit of laughter as he walks around to Hinata’s other side, kissing the top of his head. “You were great out there, babe, absolutely killed it,” he tells him.

“I died and am dying now,” Oikawa mumbles, eyes darting over to Matsukawa. “When did you have the _time?”_

Smug half smile on his face, Matsukawa moves to join his other boyfriend, one hand resting on Hinata’s shoulder as the other wraps around Hanamaki’s hip. “Just in the car,” he replies, causing Iwaizumi to shake his head. Matsukawa cocks his head, grinning. “What, it’s not like we took our pants off.”

At that, Hinata snorts, twisting his neck to look at Iwaizumi. “The power of high end cosmetics, huh?”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by footsteps echoing off the walls of the dressing room. Leaning back to look at who entered, Hinata freezes, greeted by the sight of none other that Kuroo Tetsurou, tie loosened but suit as sharp as always. And of course, he catches sight of Hinata and the gaggle around him, smiling before he _really_ gets a look. That’s when he freezes in his tracks, cheshire grin and whatever he _was_ going to say lost to time as he takes a few short steps closer, inhaling and closing his eyes. Hinata sits back into his chair as heat travels across every inch of his exposed skin, and he can’t even look away from the corner of the mirror because he can’t bear to see what Kuroo’s expression is. Behind him, Hanamaki stifles his snickers enough to stay quiet, Matsukawa beside him _radiating_ smugness as Kuroo speaks.

“Who. In the _hell._ Did this?” he asks, voice level despite being strained. He opens his eyes and purses his lips as four eyes look towards Matsukawa, who only shrugs in response, smug grin still plastered on his face.

“Oops?” he says, tongue between teeth as emotion finally breaks on Kuroo’s face in the form of frustration.

“No! Nuh-uh! Not oops!” he exclaims. “You— this is— you _knew_ he had a show— _all of you_ knew—” As his composure drifts away, he takes another breath, no stop in sight. “For _God’s sake,_ have some class and fuck in the limousine _afterwards!_ Or in between shoots or whatever just— just— don’t paint Hinata _blue_ on the day he’s walking!” Hinata withers into his chair further, eyes darting to Kuroo as he threads a hand through his hair, looking down at him. “And you! You’ve got four boyfriends—”

Oikawa chokes behind him.

“— so there is _no reason_ you are _desperate_ enough to— to—” Kuroo trails off, words escaping him as he shakes his head.

“You’d be surprised,” Hanamaki mumbles under his breath, his wink to Hinata not going unnoticed.

“Hey,” Kuroo warns, pointing a finger to him. “You’re not off the hook either. I’m not an idiot— you aren’t sly. You’re almost as worse as _him—”_ Kuroo jabs a thumb towards Oikawa, “who kisses Hinata while we’re on set for a commercial!”

Both Hinata and Oikawa begin to sputter, Oikawa beating Hinata to the punch as he shouts. “We— we didn’t even kiss really though! We weren’t even dating then!”

At that, Kuroo pauses, looking between him and Hinata with confusion, his exasperation fading into something much more calm. “Wait, but you—”

“Cheek,” Hinata squeaks, posture now so sunken that he’s become one with the chair, hiding his burning face in his hands.

“We didn’t get together until months after,” Hanamaki chimes in, cheerful despite the slightest blush that dusts his cheeks. Hinata makes note to ask him where he’s hidden his shame and if there’s room for his own.

“What,” Kuroo deadpans. “You— I thought—”

No one speaks, sharing glances with each other as Hinata slowly pries his fingers from his face. “Yahaba did a really good job with the makeup, though,” he says, a small attempt at shifting the conversation.

Kuroo, still frozen, takes a deep breath. “Yes, yeah he did. You did a great job too, that’s why I came over,” he says, at this point the whiplash bad enough he’s gone nearly monotone. He puts a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, first Bokuto, then _Sugawara,_ and now you. I don’t know if I’ll ever maintain professional relationships with any of my models, what the fuck.”

Iwaizumi coughs into his hand. “Uh, you may’ve ruined that by how you first tried to hire him,” he reminds Kuroo.

At that, the other four crack smiles or a laugh— even Hinata, in his newfound heights of embarrassment. Kuroo, looking out at them, rubs his face with his hands, stretching out his eyes as he releases a ridiculous noise. “This is the wildest day of my life. I will not live any of this down, and the only hope is neither will any of you.” By now, though, a smile, if not just from disbelief, has appeared on his face as he shakes his head, shoulders moving in slight laughter. With a deep inhale, he drops his hands, that catlike smile back in full force. “Alright then!” he says, the masquerade of professionalism back. “Oikawa, Matsukawa, you are _not_ allowed to see Hinata backstage anymore. The only exception is him!” he announces, pointing to Iwaizumi. “Hanamaki, you can too, but you’re on thin ice.” Oikawa instantly opens his mouth to protest, but Hinata is quick to shout a reply for the five of them.

“Great! Cool, awesome, let’s go! Oikawa, can you pass me my shirt?” he exclaims, plastering on a smile as he standa, desperate to get out of this situation.

Kuroo, it seems, is equally as ready to leave, and turns around with a wave. “You’re gonna ice those suckers day and night, Hinata!” he calls out behind him.

Hinata watches as he leaves, the tension leaving his shoulders as Oikawa taps his shoulder, passing him his shirt. Pulling it on, Hinata takes a deep breath, shaking his head.

“I should be mad, but…” he trails off, looking up at Matsukawa. “Just… not _before_ a show again, if only so we keep Kuroo alive.”

Matsukawa hums in agreement, leaning down to kiss his head. “Hey, we got a story out of it at least,” he tells him. “Sorry about that, babe.”

Hinata almost laughs at that, looking up his way as Oikawa’s hands wrap around his waist. “Don’t worry. I wanted it.”

The red hot embarrassment fades slowly from Hinata’s cheeks as he takes another glance back in the mirror, at the mess of purple hickies lining his throat. All he can do now is smile, wide and toothy, and shrug his shoulders. He has something to admire in the mirror for the next week or so, has assurance that, knowing them, there will be more in the days ahead. Hinata sighs, content and happy, and leans back into Oikawa’s grasp as he shoots the three in front of him a wide grin. He’s met with equally amused faces, and is glad that they’re all alright.

—

Kuroo texts Kenma that night.

 

_kuroo tetsurou >:3c: WHIUDJY WHY THE HELL DIDNT YOU TELL ME THEY HAVENT BEEN DATING FOR OVER A YEAR _

_kenma: idk you never really said they were dating dating_

_kenma: they acted like it was anyways_

_kuroo tetsurou >:3c: how Do You Survive _

_kenma: i scare them for some reason_

_kuroo tetsurou >:3c: God I Wish That Were Me _

—

With the return to Tokyo comes many things— Hinata once again gets to sleep in his own bed and feel the comforts of familiarity, gets a well deserved, and needed, break. But it also brings the inevitable— the final show before his boyfriends leave the country for their next stop in Manila. Hinata has known this was coming for some time, but nothing could prepare him for having to actually see them off himself, for having to say _goodbye._

The night before was spent at their place, of course. Hinata left with them straight to the airport, sleepier than he usually tended to be in the mornings, clinging onto whoever happens to be closer to him. Oikawa appreciates the contact, and the two stay glued together on the drive there, all nestled into the back of a van provided by HQ.

“It’s two months, but we’ll call every day,” Iwaizumi promises him. “The time difference will never be more than three or so hours, so at the very least you won’t have that to worry about.”

Hinata nods, smiling despite the worry in his gut. “I know you will,” he assures him, kissing Iwaizumi’s hand. At this point, he’s half assuring himself as he speaks, and Hinata is just fine to listen to his voice in person, to feel the warmth of their palms pressed together before they have to part.

Iwaizumi’s brows are still bunched together in concern. Untangling his arm momentarily from Oikawa, Hinata presses a thumb to the crease, smoothing it out before kissing him gently. They savour it, Hinata not moving until Iwaizumi pulls away, rough hand slipping from where it cradled his skin to rest at his thigh. “I love you,” Iwaizumi tells him.

“I love you too, Hajime,” Hinata whispers, squeezing his hand once more. Next, he shifts to face Matsukawa. It’s regrettable that they have to do this in a car, but it’s the only spot hidden from prying eyes where farewells can be said without fear of press.

Matsukawa doesn’t seem to mind, though. His arms wrap around Hinata’s shoulders and hold him tightly, nose pressing into Hinata’s hair as he hums, low and deep. Hinata only shivers a tiny bit as he leans down to face him, hands brushing stray hairs from Hinata’s face.

“I’ll think about you,” Matsukawa murmurs. “I’m gonna miss you.”

With that, he leans forwards, one hand on the back of Hinata’s neck, coaxing him upwards into a kiss. It lasts too long to be chaste, Matsukawa breathing warm into his mouth, his long eyelashes fluttering across Hinata’s cheeks. Hinata’s chest is a lit fuse sparkling, and the two only break apart when coming back up for air. A hand on Hinata’s shoulder pulls him back into the moment. Hanamaki, smiling with a rare kind of softness that turns Hinata’s stomach inside out.

“I love you,” Matsukawa tells him before slipping his hand away from Hinata’s neck.

“We aren’t gonna disappear,” Hanamaki assures him, already pressing a kiss to Hinata’s forehead. “You’re too precious to us to ever let go off.”

Hinata blushes, shaking his head before kissing Hanamaki, chaste and soft. “I love you both. I know you won’t.”

Oikawa clears his throat from behind him, not demanding, but gentle. Hinata turns with wide eyes and a wider smile, holding the water in his eyes back as he leans forward to fall into Oikawa’s arms, pressing his face to the crook of Oikawa’s neck. He’s rocked back and forth slowly, neither making any move to say anything, to _do_ anything until the silence becomes all too much to bear. It’s then that Hinata pulls back to look into the warm depths of Oikawa’s eyes, fingertips curling against his collarbone.

“I love you, Shouyou,” Oikawa tells him, already leaning forwards so that their foreheads press together. “Never forget that.”

Hinata laughs lightly, leaning back to cup a hand to Oikawa’s cheek. “How could I ever?” he whispers. “I love you too much to ever do something like that.”

That’s all Oikawa needs to press forwards and kiss Hinata, once, twice, three times, each one desperate as if to memorize him one last time before they part. Hinata can feel the knot threatening to form in his throat and swallows it down, promising himself _not_ to cry in front of them, not now. He kisses Oikawa back and breathes in the smell of his skin once more before they part, hand squeezing his thigh.

They all look from one to the other, mood a little sad for Hinata’s liking. Fighting the selfish part of him, Hinata smiles wide, flicking his eyes to each of them, heart pounding against his ribs.

“I love you guys,” he says. “I’ll— I’ll be here, for you, wherever you end up.”

At that, Iwaizumi cracks a smile, hand on Hinata’s shoulder warm and steady. “We know,” he says.

It’s another long moment before they manage to grab all of their things, Oikawa’s hand tentatively hovering above the handle of the car’s door. He whips around, surging back over towards Hinata to kiss him once more before pushing it open, still looking back at him to wave even as the blinding lights of cameras start to shutter.

Hinata waves too, shouts goodbye and scoots to the very edge of the seat as the four part, looking back towards him until they reach the doors, hustled away by security and the demands of the world around them. The door closes again, a barrier between them named distance founded in that moment. Hinata’s breaths shudder more than he’d like them to as he sinks into his seat, buckling his seatbelt once more as tears, hot and silent, begin to track down his cheeks.

Despite everything, he _is_ happy. This is their passion, what they love, what they’ve put their souls into doing. Hinata would never want to tear them away from that, knows that just seeing them spread joy through their music will be enough to tide him over from the lack of physical contact over the next few months. The heavy feeling in his gut doesn’t dissipate, but his shoulders grow lighter as he cries, happy tears pooling around his nose as he hastily wipes them away. As the car pulls out of the airport terminal, the distance grows, and so does the tiny ache in Hinata’s heart.

Hinata clings onto his sweater— Iwaizumi’s sweater. He hasn’t given it back, and doesn’t intend to. As he revels in the warmth, he closes his eyes, content to sleep until he arrives back at his apartment, to stew in the emotions settling inside of him. However, he never gets the chance, a faint _ping_ from his phone drawing his head from the clouds and back down the the message displayed across his screen.

 

_oikawa <3: i miss you already… _

 

Hinata’s entire body swells with love. A tear falls onto the screen as he hastily types back.

 

_hinata!!!: i haven’t gone anywhere <3<3 _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there you go!!!!!!!!! we hope you liked this chapter, and remember that kudos and comments are aways appreciated!!! to see progress on this or any other of our aus check out our social media: find mooks on tumblr @mooksmookin and on twitter @mookzymooks and me, kj, on twitter and tumblr @spacegaykj ! 
> 
> heres to hoping that the next chapter comes a little sooner!!! we already have a solid few thousand words down!!!
> 
> **EDIT: please stop telling us to update faster. we're doing our best here and telling us to update faster kills our motivation to keep working on the story.**


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